


Between Love and Everything Else

by PikaPixie



Series: Timeline of Forever [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Gaara becomes kazekage, Lovey-Dovey, Mental Anguish, Teen Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Training, because what even is ao3 formatting, crossposted from ff.net, i almost hate it, i made a chapter so cliche, in between canons, its really hard, so no italics or bolds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:45:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaPixie/pseuds/PikaPixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitsuwa Fumiko was a strange child. She was an artist who loved the desert, a pacifist who learned to fight, and the always ridiculously happy best friend of the stoic Kazekage. But at least she had time to fall in love... sequel to Timeline of Forever. (Sequel to TOF)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the Beginning

The elders stared at her like she'd grown a couple more heads. Fumiko didn't back down, smiling back at them and pushing the papers forward across the huge wooden desk. Filling them out had been a long and tedious process, but she'd helped the best she could.

An elder cleared his throat. "I see," he said in his raspy voice, eyebrows raised. The other four muttered among themselves.

"Gaara would make a great Kazekage," she said. "You have to admit that Gaara has been vital to the recovery of Sunagakure in our time of need. Without him, we could very well still be knee-deep in missions and debt."

Fumiko was using her 'One hundred and sixty two IQ' voice. She didn't particularly like talking like the elders, but they wouldn't take her seriously if she offered them sugar and tried to laugh, and besides, If she wasn't at least slightly professional, Mai would never trust her in a political situation ever again, and when Gaara became Kazekage she wanted to be there too.

Another, a woman this time, steepled her fingers and looked at her like an incompetent child. "That might be true, but that doesn't negate the fact that Gaara is not trusted in the village."

"That's just it, though, a lot of people in this village do trust him. I ran a general survey, and came up with over two hundred shinobi and one hundred villagers that would vouch for him. I also conducted an outside survey."

Fumiko tapped a bulging tan folder filled with various sheets of paper, each one peppered with signatures, with her fingernail. "Tsunade of the Leaf as well as many others believe Gaara would do well as a leader."

Taking a general survey of the village had been painstaking and long. Gaara still wasn't much of a people person, so Fumiko usually did most of the talking, dragging him around from person to person and place to place, smiling and offering treats and explaining the situation a hundred thousand times. She also got to meet a lot of different people, which was pretty cool.

Most of the villagers who signed only did so because they knew her from the hospital- and the hospital itself had generated more than half of the overall signatures. But there had been quite a few ninja that trusted Gaara outside of that. Sending the request for Tsunade to sign had probably been a boneheaded idea- in the words of Kankuro- but for whatever reason Tsunade seemed to like her and Gaara well enough. Fumiko had figured having another Kage's signature would go a long way.

In the process, Shizune, most of the Genin she had met, and quite a few staff in the hospital at Konoha had added their signatures as well, which had been a pleasant surprise.

"That's still less than half of the entire population."

"I see," Fumiko said, still smiling. "I'm curious. Who were you planning to appoint in the Fourth Kazekage's place, then? The spot has been open for a while. We need to be able to defend ourselves against a possible attack."

Silence. A few glared at her, but Fumiko only smiled, leaning forward in her seat. Usually, only the elders sat when taking reports or requests, but they had made an exception this time, because, well, she couldn't stand in one place very long. Although, it kind of looked like they were starting to regret it.

"I assure you there are better candidates. Shinobi that the people of this village will cherish and respect."

Fumiko's smile tightened just slightly.

"That may be so... However, the Kage of each hidden village are directly known as the strongest shinobi in that land. Am I correct in saying that many of the Kages' acts are extremely controversial, however, they remain in power due to that status?"

"Young lady-"

"Name one Genin in this village," Fumiko interrupted. "No- name one Jonin that can defeat Gaara in combat, and I'll resign my submission." When nobody said anything, she continued. "Now name anybody who took more one man to three-cell missions on his own during the Leaf Invasion Crisis."

She put her palms flat on the table. It was a rhetorical question, obviously; and nobody said a word against her or to answer the question. They couldn't. In fact, most at of the Elders looked intrigued, like they couldn't believe she knew this much.

"Gaara is the strongest shinobi in the village hidden in the Sand," she said with total confidence. "The strongest in Wind country. I don't doubt that at all. And he loves this village, Elders. I don't think there's anybody more suited."

The only Elder left that was still looking down his nose at her scowled. "If Gaara cares so much about achieving this position, why isn't he here?"

"For the very same reason as I told you before," she said. "Gaara is acting as a Jonin squad leader on a mission in the Land of Stones. In fact, I believe it was you, Elder, that requested the sensei of the Academy to do so until otherwise occupied."

The tops of his ears turned a peculiar shade of red.

"Let us discuss the matter privately for a few moments," an old woman said in her papery thin voice, but now she was smiling as well.

"Sweet!" she exclaimed, because they weren't totally opposed to the idea. They stared at her, and Fumiko suddenly realized she was grinning like an idiot. Quickly she stood and bowed. "I mean, uh, yes, of course. Thank you, Elder."

Fumiko exited the room, gently sliding the door shut behind her. The Jonin guards posted on either side of the entrance- one of them Baki- nodded at her. Both had signed her semi-petition.

Mai was there as well, having just finished class, leaning up against the far wall. When she saw her come out, Mai pushed off and stepped over.

"So? Were they complete jerks, or did they actually listen to you?"

"They listened." Fumiko grinned. "Actually, they're 'discussing it' right now."

Mai smirked. "Good. 'Cause Gaara would make a damn good Kazekage, and I'm not just saying that because he doesn't assign homework at the Academy."

"Yeah."

"Sandwich?" Mai asked lazily, lifting the plastic bag that dangled on her forefinger. "Mom packed turkey, PB and J, and tuna fish. By the by, the tuna fish has that freaking sweet mayonnaise stuff that you make, and I'm not gonna eat that."

"Tuna fish," Fumiko laughed.

...

"So what's the verdict?" The other Jonin, Haki, asked curiously when she stepped back out a half hour later.

"If I can get sixty five percent of the population to sign on and Gaara comes with me next time, they'll hold shinobi, villager, and head conferences."

When the time came for a new Kazekage to be chosen, there would be a series of votes to elect councils. There were three- the first was a group of thirteen ninja including seven Jonin, four Chuunin, and two Genin with the proper requirements, all voted for by the shinobi population.

The second was compiled of twenty six villagers, the majority of them adults, but there was a percentage of them that included teenagers and children. They were voted by the civilians of Suna.

The third council included the Elders, the current Kazekage- if there was one- and any other high-standing advisors, known as Heads. Each group was weighted differently- for instance, the shinobis' votes counted for more than the villagers', and the villagers' actually held more influence than the vote of the Heads.

It took a while to appoint a Kazekage. There was a month long period during which applications were submitted and councils voted into power. When that was completed, there was another three week long wait for anybody else who decided to apply for the part of Kazekage. Then, there was a week during which the shinobi and villager councils independently discussed and voted- after which there was a two week time for the Heads to count, discuss, and ultimately announce the results.

The ballot pretty much consisted of 'yes' and 'no'.

Mai whistled. "Dang. You must've thrown a pretty good pitch."

"Let's hope I can do it again," Fumiko said, laughing. "We still need a lot more signatures."

...

When Gaara finally came home, he looked absolutely exhausted. He dragged himself into his bedroom, where Fumiko happened to be digging through his blankets. Somehow, she'd left the sheath of papers she'd gotten signed in his bed.

"What are you doing?" He asked, and for a moment Fumiko had no idea who he was.

She didn't look up. "Ne, I came to the tower to get some of Gaara's stuff signed, but I left it here by accident when I took a nap."

"How often do you talk to total strangers that walk into my room?"

"Hm?" She glanced up, then dropped her papers in a flurry to the ground. "Gaara! You're back!"

She shrieked with laughter and staggered to him. Gaara caught her easily, chuckling slightly also, but still drooping like a wilted cactus flower. "Hey."

"Did you just get back? How'd the mission go? Have you seen Mai or Baki yet?" Fumiko locked her arms around his neck so she could pull herself to his eye level. Gaara had, in a very short time period, grown at least three inches. "You look tired. What happened? Did-"

"Yeah, I missed you too," he said with a tired smile. "Just... Kids are exhausting. And why would I have seen Mai or Baki? I literally just got back..." He glanced over the top of her head at the papers littering the ground. "And what have you been up to, exactly?"

Fumiko pulled out of his arms, grinning. "Well..." she started, voice full of suppressed excitement. "Do you remember how I mentioned before you left that I was gonna talk to the Elders?"

Gaara blanched. "I thought you were kidding."

"When do I ever kid you?" She laughed, dancing backward and kneeling to scoop up her papers. "I seriously set up a meeting."

Another set of pale hands appeared to help her. "And?"

"And they told me that if I could get twenty two percent more of the villagers to agree, they would hold a conference," she informed him, reaching for the papers he was holding out, but he wouldn't let go. His fingers clenched tight.

"Are you..."

He trailed off, and Fumiko glanced up. His eyes were wide, face slack.

"Yup. I dunno if they liked me or my smart or what, but they agreed. But..." Her lips curved into a warm smile."They don't really have room to say no. Everything I said was true."

"And what did you tell them?"

Fumiko blinked. Gaara's voice was low, ringing with something she hardly ever heard, something like admiration and disbelief and something she couldn't discern. She smiled at him instead of thinking about it.

"That they needed a new Kazekage," she answered. "And that you were the strongest shinobi they'd find in the Land of Wind."

"The strongest, huh?" Gaara smiled with his eyes. "Isn't that the reason they're scared of me in the first place?"

"I might also have mentioned that you loved the village and are a great person," she said, and raised her hands in a theatrical shrug. "Ne, nothing they didn't know already. Anyway, Mai and Baki have been helping me get more signatures."

"Even Baki?" Gaara said disbelievingly.

Fumiko tugged again and Gaara relinquished the now slightly crumpled pages. "He thinks you would make a great Kazekage too. Sugar, you know, I never really knew how many people there were in this village. A lot of them run away or get rude, but actually some of them remember you from missions. The villagers, a couple of them, just take my word for it. There's a lot of people," she stressed, laughing.

Gaara stood, helping Fumiko to her foot gently by the elbows. "You didn't have to do that," he said. "You could have waited for me to get back."

"Of course I did. You're my best friend." She pressed the papers to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. "Love you."

He stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Then he sighed, smiling just slightly. "You too."

"I'm glad you're back."

He put a hand on her head, which he could do now without stretching. "Me too."

...

"Ow!"

"Swing harder, Fumiko! You have to move fast if you ever want to win a fight with that thing!"

"Ow!"

"You have the movement down. You just need to apply it. Don't be afraid of hurting me!"

"Ow-wagh!"

Fumiko slipped trying to duck and spin the staff over her head, prosthetic twisting out from under her. She hit the ground face-first, Bo staff clattering away across the Academy floor. She just laid there for a second, panting and rolling onto her back.

Kankuro poked his head into her line of vision, leaning over her. "You alive?"

"Yeah. I just... need... a second..."

"You're bruising like a fresh peach," he observed. "Fumiko, you're good at blocking, but even you have a stamina limit. You need to be able to hit people."

"I am hitting you."

He scoffed, then took her outstretched hand and hauled her to her foot. "If you tried to hit an attacker like that in a real fight, you'd get killed. Hit me harder."

"I can't."

"You can." He said, shaking his head. "I've seen you hit those dummies. You're stronger than you look. You could take me out if you tried."

"Ugh." She gasped, then burst out coughing and leaned over slightly, hands on her knees. Something sticky and bitter slipped out of her throat, dotting the sandy ground by her foot with dark wetness. Fumiko wiped at her mouth. "I guess you're right. I just do't really want to hit people unless they're, you know, trying to kill me."

"Shit," Kankuro said with alarm. "I wasn't trying to hit you that hard! Gaara's gonna kill me! Hey, Fumiko, you feeling okay? Maybe we should stop for today. I mean, you've been at it since this morning."

She spat, trying to get the taste out of her mouth, then reached into her pouch for a handful of sugar. "Fure. My heaf hurts."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," someone sighed from nearby. "I swear, you're just as bad as Kankuro."

Fumiko lifted her head, brushing her long hair behind her ear, and straightened, smiling. She swallowed. "Ne, hello, Temari."

"Mai sent me to tell you something," Temari said dryly but with a small smirk. "Something about practicing your next pitch, because she hit the mark." Temari paused. "Probably she threatened more than convinced them but-"

"No way! Yes!" Fumiko cheered, raising her hands in the air above her head and then wincing. She lowered them gingerly, favoring her ribcage and stomach. "... Ow."

...

The Elders looked extremely uncomfortable as they shuffled through her papers, passing the neatly calligraphed petitions signed by a wide scatter of various names, ranks, and ages, all meeting- and in fact surpassing by 13 Genin votes- the requirements.

Fumiko looked out at them expectantly.

"Well, Fumiko-chan, Gaara-kun, this is certainly very impressive," one sighed. "You managed to get the proper amount of signatures in less time than it took to get Rasa's."

Fumiko's smile twitched and stretched slightly. Rasa had been voted in faster than any of Sunagakure's previous Kazekage, probably mostly due to his expensive, supportive Gold Dust, but also because of just his pure strength and dedication.

She glanced over at Gaara, who had assumed his stereotypical cool, cross-armed stance, seemingly unperturbed that the fate of his newest dream was at stake.

"And we can also assume from Baki's reports that they were all given freely with consent." said another, then raised her eyebrows. "I suppose this has something to do with your reign of influence in both the hospitals and Academy students."

"These are still credited citizens and shinobi of Suna," Gaara said calmly. "Influence or not, they would not have helped us if they were afraid."

The Elder who had spoken nodded her head thoughtfully, like Gaara had said something intelligent. "Continue."

Fumiko opened her mouth to wrap up the pitch- because weren't they supposed to start up voting after they had acquired the requested amount of signatures? They must have still been doubtful- but Gaara beat her to the punch.

"I do love this village," he said quietly, and when Fumiko looked at him again she saw his clear, controlled eyes staring into each of theirs. "And I would like to help protect it and the people inside it's walls."

Fumiko's mouth clamped shut, lips curving into a smile.

"I wish to prove that I too can be important to this village," he continued, and now the Elders' eyes were wide with surprise. "Not just as a weapon, but as Kazekage."

There was a beat of silence. Baku, the main Head and the one that had eyeballed her so much during their first meeting, scooped up the papers and tapped them into a neat pile on the table. Then he placed it on the wood. "We agree to initiate Council."

...

For some reason- despite the fact that the actual voting process took several months- the Elders decided to hold setting up council until a month long time period had passed.

Which was perfectly fine, because that gave them enough time to plan out a trip to Konoha. Fumiko was excited- the last time she'd seen her friends in Konoha, it was because Matsuri had been kidnapped, so nothing more than a friendly visit seemed like a very good idea. She'd already mailed Lee, who had fervently promised in many letters to meet her at the main gates.

"Come on, guys, c'mon, let's go!" she cheered, latching onto Gaara's arm as the other two bedraggled Sand Siblings grumbled behind them, droopy and totally shot.

"Why are we leaving so early?" Kankuro complained. "It's not a mission."

"Because if we wait very long, the sun will rise, and we'll be trudging through the worst parts of Suna's desert in full sunlight." Gaara answered for her. "It's better to hear you whine about being tired now and sleep longer tomorrow than to have to deal with everybody whining about sunburn and dehydration all at once."

Temari humphed. "Yeah, Kankuro. Think for a second."

"Who saved your butts from dying in the desert?" Kankuro grumbled, shooting both Gaara and Fumiko baleful looks. "I didn't have to cut myself apart opening those cactai for you, you know."

Fumiko smiled. "I know. I still say thank you."

"You know you could've just used your Puppetry to handle the blade and the cactus, you know," Mai added just because she'd thought of it and he hadn't. Basically for the sake of starting a fight, because if Fumiko knew her sister well at all, she was bored already, and they hadn't even started off yet.

Gaara and Fumiko were the only two completely unaffected by waking up at four to clear most of the major parts of the desert before noon. The perks with traveling without shunshin on a non-important mission were that you actually had time to slow down and avoid the sun, which meant heading out early, setting up camp when the sun got too high, sleeping all day, and traveling at night.

Desert travel was way more tedious than forest travel, though Fumiko knew the sand dunes better, having gone on frequent walks outside of the village wall before and preferred it to the root-filled anti-prosthetic soil and cobbled stone streets of Konoha. Besides, if you fell here, there was soft if not hot sand to catch you.

The sun hadn't even risen yet. Neither Gaara nor Fumiko had been sleeping at all last night, plotting and planning both their trip and what they would do after, since it would last right up until the councils voted, so things would get busy fast after their vacation. Mai was skipping out on the Academy- which had new ninja sensei now, apparently by the order of the same elder she had called out before- and non of her former teachers particularly cared.

Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro had taken a leave of absence from missions. Nobody in the village really complained, but the three of them had taken on more missions successfully than should have really been possible for ninja of their rank, so Fumiko would've been confused if they had.

Fumiko licked sugar off her thumb. The cool, not quite cold anymore breeze of a Suna morning ruffled her hair and cloak as they set out, the sound of Mai and Kankuro's bickering like a soundtrack to a long and possibly fun trip.

...

Team Gai was waiting for them when they arrived. Gaara suspected it was Lee that had dragged Ten Ten and Neji to the gates- he was jumping up and down, shading his eyes, peering into the forest for them.

When he saw them, he whooped.

"Neji! Ten Ten! They are coming!"

Fumiko and Lee had become close friends not much time after the Chuunin exams. She was hyper enough to keep up with him, and he was legitimately kind enough to understand her. It was a bit of a headache to every other human in the village, shinobi or not, especially when Lee helped her to zip around, the both of them laughing and yelling and nosy without meaning to be.

Usually they both jumped on the chance to train together- even if Fumiko couldn't even come close to keeping up with his insane taijutsu regime. Really, Gaara had been surprised that Fumiko could stand on her hands at all, let alone get a few shaky feet forward on them before collapsing.

Beside him, Fumiko grinned broadly and cupped her hands around her mouth: "Heeey, Lee!" she called, then waved. "Neji! Ten Ten!"

Gaara personally didn't know the team of Genin very well, only that to stand near Lee too long was to get a migraine and ringing ears, Ten Ten had more scars on her thumbs from Fuuinjutsu than any other kunoichi he had ever met- and so he made sure to watch carefully where her hands were- and that, well, he still wasn't particularly fond of the haughty white-eyed Hyuga boy, Neji.

But Fumiko seemed to like him too, so Gaara figured there must have been something other than stoicism in him, otherwise, she would get bored and not have gotten to know him. Fumiko wasn't actually a very good judge of character- she saw too much good in too many people- but if Neji acted like he did all the time, Fumiko would have just bonded with Lee.

Gaara didn't see their Jonin sensei Gai with them anywhere, which was a relief in itself. Behind him, he could almost feel his siblings sighing in resignation.

As they got closer, Gaara peered forward into the gates, bypassing Lee's energetic yelling about something or other, blinking to see if the village had changed at all. It hadn't.

Fumiko and Lee greeted each other excitedly, talking at rapid speeds only they and Gaara understood- because she spoke like that often- and as they did so he nodded politely to the other two.

Ten Ten nodded back. "It's good to see you again, Gaara-kun, Temari-chan, Kankuro-kun."

"At least we aren't trying to kill people this time," Temari mock-sighed, stepping up beside him where Fumiko had previously stood. "What, is this our first peaceful visit?"

"Hopefully." Neji said blandly, then flinched a full foot in the air as Fumiko jumped him.

"Hi, Neji! It's been forever since I saw you last! Did you know Gaara's gonna be Kazekage?"

"Aa, Fumiko," Gaara cut in. "That's not certain yet."

"Of course it is," she said cheerfully as she released the frozen Byakugan user. Then she reached into her pouch and held out her hand to Neji. "Sugar?"

"... No, thank you." he said after a moment.

Ten Ten smiled. "I'll have some, Fumiko-chan."

"No wonder she likes you," Kankuro drawled. "Everyone else refuses."

...

"Your skill certainly has improved, Fumiko."

Lee had dropped the -chan a long time ago, once he realized she didn't particularly care for it.

They were jumping, now, through the forests of Konoha- which were beautiful if not slightly wrecked here and there from the various battles that always seemed to occur when they were all together.

Fumiko was ecstatic. The only practice she'd had tree-walking in Suna was pretty much sandpaper-walking up the walls of random buildings. She hadn't been sure if she would be able to do it any better than the previous one, two, three, splatter on your face.

"Thanks!" she giggled back, pushing chakra through both her foot and through the metal part of the prosthetic. She was still way more clumsy and amateur at it than Lee, but she wasn't falling on her face, and Fumiko considered that a solid win.

"Have you managed to close your second gate yet?" Lee jumped straight up to avoid the jagged broken branch where Shukaku had obliterated part of a tree, grabbing a thinner branch above his head and slinging himself down to another. Fumiko followed suite, laughing as she soared through the air.

"Almost! But I keep passing out."

"Perhaps you could try building up your chakra stores, so you would have more to support yourself?" Lee suggested. It was funny how his voice didn't even hitch while hers was breathless and halted from running through treetops.

"I thought that too, but I did some research into it and when I tried it didn't work all that well. All I ended up doing was- uh!" Fumiko exclaimed as she almost fell but caught the branch and spun back onto it like a gymnast. She crouched there, pausing for breath. "-was giving myself chakra exhaustion."

Lee skidded to an abrupt halt, then backtracked beside her. "How unyouthful! Why not?"

"I have a theory, but I need Neji to confirm it."

What is it?"

Fumiko paused, humming in thought. "Well, I'm not sure yet, but I think it works kinda like Uzumaki Naruto's when he gets angry, or like you when you're using Frontal Lotus."

"What do you mean?" Lee asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in interest.

"I don't necessarily have an excess of chakra. Actually," she laughed, "it's considered just above adequate by most shinobi standards. But you know how when you release your gates, there's such an extra amount that it escapes straight out of your skin?"

Fumiko emphasized this visual by raising her hands and flickering her fingers like she was imitating smoke.

"Yes."

"That's because the chakra network is disrupted. Instead of going in straight pathways, it escapes into your entire body uncontrolled, and without any walls to keep it in place it vanishes into the air like... Steam. Mine disappears at a steady rate of exactly how much chakra my body creates, so I retain an almost constant level of chakra."

"I do not understand... If you raise your overall chakra amounts, it shouldn't matter if it stays the same."

Fumiko shook her head, biting her lip thoughtfully. "That isn't how chakra buildup works. When you exhaust all of your chakra and it replenishes over and over, usually, it stretches your coils a little at a time so that it holds more at any given time. But, your body's natural exertion of chakra only increases slightly as you grow."

"So what you mean is that no matter what, any extra chakra your coils may hold will escape from your skin as excess?"

"I think so." Fumiko smiled. "But it's still just a theory."

"You think a lot, Fumiko."

"Not really." Fumiko shrugged. "I'm curious."

...

"May I ask how you keep coming up with these theories, Fumiko?" Neji said absently as he scanned her chakra again. He'd been cornered alone in the training fields.

"I think of things. I try them. They don't work. I do research and guess why."

"Guess?" Neji almost snorted as he blinked his eyes, Byakugan fading. "Well, then, Fumiko, you're a very good guesser, because this theory just like your others is correct."

"Sweet. So that means I think, that my chakra level will go up at least a little bit!"

...

"I like this room," Fumiko said brightly as she taped up her sketches of the day to the walls of one of the Naras' many guest rooms. There was a small clattering of wooden pieces behind her.

"It's your turn." Shikamaru drawled.

"Oh?" Fumiko turned, blinking down at the game board. Go this time, not Shogi. Shikamaru was teaching her how to play, and it had taken about ten minutes for him to make a move halfway into the game. "I think I'm getting better at this."

"More so than you are at Shogi, which is odd. Go is more complicated. But you're good at both. It's a real drag." Shikamaru sighed. "At least you play better than your sister."

Fumiko hopped down from the step stool and crouched down in front of the game. "Hmm," she hummed. "I think I'll do this thing."

She moved her pieces around the board.

Shikamaru stared at it.

For a while.

"Ne, Shikamaru, can I go back to decorating?"

He scowled, expression thoughtful and almost irritated, putting his fingers together in his customary way when he was thinking. "Yes."

...

"I can't believe you beat Shikamaru at Go," Choji mumbled around a mouthful of red bean bun. "Or that you can cook this good. You're pretty smart."

Fumiko blinked, putting the bowl with the miso soup down in front of him. "Wait, because I beat Shikamaru at Go or because I can cook good?"

"Agh, shut it, Choji," Shikamaru muttered, slinking deeper into his slouch and poking mournfully at his bean buns. Fumiko smiled sheepishly, tilting her head to the left slightly and closing her eyes.

"Ahaha, Shikamaru, I'm sorry."

Mai just barked out a laugh, nearly choking on her bean bun. "Idiot. She works in a damn hospital and half the ideas she has I can't follow. Of course she's smart."

"Or maybe you just aren't," Kankuro snickered behind his hand, although he knew full well she wasn't.

Mai swallowed and smacked her hands down on the table, startling Mrs. Nara, and growled. "Back off, Baka Kankuro, before I shove that bean roll down your throat!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

Fumiko skittered to them as Mai took that bet, forcefully smashing her half eaten bean roll into his face, knocking over both their bowls of soup and her plate of buns, nearly kneeling on the table for better leverage.

Gaara seemed to find the whole thing amusing, his lips twitching slightly even as he kept his eyes trained carefully down at his bowl of Miso soup. He ignored the sounds of struggling as Fumiko tried to pull her sister off a hacking Kankuro. "You had many hints that Fumiko was smart. Don't challenge her to mind games, Nara."

"I've always been able to beat her at Shogi before," Shikamaru argued, also unaffected by the fight breaking out right beside him.

"Barely," Shikaku, who Fumiko found to be very intelligent and kind, letting them stay at his house every time they visited, interjected, looking over his spoonful of soup. "And of course she's been improving, Shikamaru."

"Troublesome geniuses," his son sighed loudly.

Choji, Gaara, Temari, Kankuro, Mai, herself, and the Nara head family all sat around one huge oak dinner table. Fumiko had taken it upon herself to cook while they stayed here- because really, it was the least she could do- and nobody had complained once.

Choji was visiting over simply because he was Shikamaru's friend and apparently he ate dinner here often. He and Shikamaru sat beside each other, with Temari on the Nara heir's left. On the other side of the table were Gaara, Fumiko, Mai, and Kankuro's seats, also in that order, and on either end were Shikamaru's parents'.

"I'm not a genius," Fumiko laughed out. "I'm probably just picking up on some of your strategies, Shikamaru."

She sat down finally with her own bowl, munching on a bun, having successfully calmed her sister down with a fresh bowl of soup. Both Mai and Kankuro's shirts were stained with Miso, and they threw the occasional glare at each other. Temari elbowed her neighbor in the side with a smirk, spoon in one hand pointing at him tauntingly.

"So now you're getting beat by civilians, are you, Shikamaru?" Her tone had no real bite in it, but was amused and teasing. "Hum, to think you've fallen so far."

"Women," he groaned. "Fine then. I'll just come up with more strategies. Rematch after dinner."

"Dessert," Choji amended.

...

"Huh," little Konohamaru slurred, mouth full of noodles. "So you've been here before?"

Her and Konohamaru were sitting together at the counter for Ichiraku ramen, Fumiko waiting on her bowl and Uzumaki Naruto on his third. Not that he'd finished his second, but she supposed that would happen soon enough.

Gaara was out doing something with the other Academy kids again, who had remembered their temporary sensei and tailed him until he agreed to catch up with them. Konohamaru really was a cute kid, agreeing to watch over her while Gaara was gone.

"Yeah, once," she said. "Oh! Thank you."

"No problem," the chef said as he plunked her bowl down in front of her. "Enjoy."

"Once?"

"When we came here for the Chuunin exams, me and Gaara ate here. But there were more tables and more servers."

"Ah, the old man puts extra stuff out for village events, 'cause so many customers come in they just can't fit 'em all at the counter." Konohamaru answered after sucking down the rest of his bowl, clinking it down contentedly, almost an exact replica of the ninja he considered a rival. But Uzumaki Naruto was gone training with Jiraiya.

"Huh." Fumiko said. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah. Hey old man, one more, will ya please?"

While they spoke, Fumiko rummaged into her pouch for a handful of sugar. She zipped it back out and dumped the sweetener into her ramen before licking her hand off and reaching for her chopsticks with the other.

Dead silence.

Fumiko felt stares on the back of her head and looked over. Konohamaru and the chef had gone deadly quiet, staring at her with disbelief.

"Ne..." she lowered her hand from her mouth. "What?"

"You- you-" Konohamaru spluttered. "You ruined it!"

...

"Alright!"

Fumiko pressed both hands to her face, squinting in thought and biting her lip as she concentrated. Neji, Ten Ten, and Lee watched with fascination, Neji with his byakugan and Lee and Ten Ten with wide eyes.

She breathed out, in her mind piecing together the jagged parts and pieces of her pathways together with a mental kind of glue fixed together by a combination of Yin chakra and the stray fabrications of a weak, easily maintainable genjutsu. Slowly and with much focus and painstaking pasting, her paths reformed- on one gate anyway- and closed.

Fumiko didn't even stumble this time, just blinked rapidly and lowered her hands. This was common practice now, during her shifts at the hospital when urgent wounds simply required something more than ordinary stitching and swabbing. She still carried her medical satchel with her everywhere, though. Then she grinned.

"That is amazing," Neji murmured, blinking as well out of his byakugan. "Your mastery of the Yin part of your chakra is amazing. No holes, no cracks..." he frowned. "If not for your unfortunate defect, you would have had master control over your chakra. Are any in our family shinobi?"

"My mother is. She graduated straight into medic. corps and became an iryou-nin."

"Wow. That's pretty cool for a civilian, Fumiko-chan," Ten Ten said. "I didn't even see what happened. But why are you shivering? It's pretty hot."

"My chakra loose all over the place is actually really warm," Fumiko explained with a lopsided smile. "So whenever I close my first gate and the whole system regulates a little bit, I get kinda chilly."

"I know what you mean," Lee said sympatheticly. "When I was training to use it, the temperature of my body raised to almost four degrees past the ordinary limit of the human body."

Fumiko laughed. "Yeah, I've had some issues with that. With doctors who think I'm dying of heat stroke or fevers."

...

Several demonstrations later, all four of them sat together by the huge wooden training posts. Lee was talking animatedly both about youth and the curry Fumiko had made him, Neji was sorta just sitting there stiffly, and Ten Ten was working on seals, taking long, sweeping brushes.

Lee and Fumiko were well on their way to working themselves all the way back up when Ten Ten groaned, covering her face with one hand and smearing ink across her face. Fumiko glanced at her curiously.

"What's the matter?" she said, breaking off from what was starting to be an interesting conversation about squirrels and their habits. Ten Ten looked frustrated at the scroll lying open on the ground where she knelt, ink drying in the sun. She lowered her brush like she was going to write, hesitated, and then groaned again.

"No matter what I do, I can't find a way to make compartments!"

"Compartments?"

"Instead of all my weapons coming out at once, which is just annoying and unnecessary and impossible to clean up afterward, not to mention how vulnerable I'm left open whe I use one up," Ten Ten tried to explain, "I'm trying to find a way to make separate compartments to hold varying types and amounts of weapons that I could open a different times."

"I know some about Fuuinjutsu," Fumiko said, scooting closer to look at her work. Already there were three large, open circles where the 'compartments' would be. "Which is what and how much?"

"The first one would be just taijutsu, things I could grab at easily," Ten Ten said, still frowning and pointing at the circle with her brush. "Bo staffs, short blades, stuff like that. The second would be full of spam weapons- like what I do already for my spinning rage attacks. The third would be medium-long distance handhelds; Hashirigamas, long swords, shuriken. But I can't find a way to make them open at different times."

Fumiko blinked at it for a second, reaching out one thumb to blur a line slightly. "Well...have you considered switching your Great Raging Dragon bi-seals on the ends for chakra storage elements? If you did that, then here-" she swept her hand to the spam circle- "you could put an Ultimate Flying Storm bi-seal, which would connect the three of them and keep them stable, and still let you have separate chakra activation."

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, picking up a brush and starting on one of her more empty seals, putting in her suggestions. "... And if you accounted for amount at a time instead of just separate spaces, you could keep one general store trisected by amount needed... are you earth or water base chakra type?"

Ten Ten blinked. "Uh, earth."

"Perfect! Then a stabilization seal here for 'reaction' like you were trying for goes against your nature, sorta, that's better for a fire-based user. So if you went with a 'mud' kanji like this..." Fumiko calligraphed quickly with Ten Ten's chakra imbued ink, then swirled a general chakra stream to another Mud kanji above it, repeating the process on the opposite end of the scroll and stretching over Ten Ten's knees. "... then instead of a huge pop of smoke, it's be more like it's sliding out for you to grab."

"Wait," Ten Ten said, following her fingers with her eyes and jabbing at a symbol with her fingernail. "But if you put it up beside a Shinigami like that the scroll could implode and I'd lose my store in one go."

"Saa, but look, see, the way I curved the energy director?" Fumiko pointed out. "Like with my medical Seals, it'll push excess violent energy to the outside of the seal, which might actually go with mud in the center to get that 'reaction' flurry you want, but only in the center."

"Oh, I get it," Ten Ten said, blinking. "And what if I put a general storage marking here for my chakra specifically?"

"Then you could activate one or two at the same time... ooh, Ten Ten, that's a great idea!"

"I am lost," Lee admitted.

...

Fumiko and Lee had gone through curry, different kinds of spices, kitchen supplies, different kinds of poisons used for ninja, antidotes, rehabilitation, Lee's jutsu exercises, Fumiko's Yin: Release, Genjutsu, her paintings she had sold, the forest, and finally gravitated back to squirrels. They hadn't turned off for nearly an hour and it didn't look like they were going to anytime soon.

"Why do you two like squirrels so much?" Neji broke in finally. Although listening to them was in some right like watching a doomed jutsu- he just couldn't look away- Neji was about tired of the random, seemingly irrelevant topics.

Both of their heads swiveled around to look at him. Neji found it almost... creepy, the way they both simultaneously blinked at him.

"Because they're cute," Fumiko said at the same time Lee announced, "They let me feed them by hand."

"When do you do that?" Ten Ten asked curiously.

"In between my training... mostly when I am in the hospital," Lee admitted sheepishly.

"But-"

Ten Ten cut herself off, startled, when Fumiko suddenly closed her eyes and tipped over, not quite landing on Lee's shoulder and sliding off, landing instead on her side in the grass, all at once and completely unconscious.

Neji and Ten Ten both scrambled to their feet instantly. Lee just turned, having spotted the shadow of her fall and felt her glance on his shoulder, and jumped up himself when he realized what had happened. "Fumiko!"

...

When no amount of shaking, prodding, or pretending-nothing-was-wrong-with-her woke Fumiko up, Neji at last was the one to point out what they had to do.

"But, uh, Neji," Ten Ten said nervously, "That actually sounds like a really bad idea..."

"I do not particularly want to do it either," Lee admitted. "But Gaara does know her best."

"Fumiko passed out, Ten Ten," Neji said frankly. "We need to at the very least tell Gaara about it. Sooner rather than later. Perhaps he knows what's wrong. She might be sick."

Ten Ten sighed. "Fine, but I'm not telling him and I'm not carrying her."

"I will get her," Lee said. "I usually have to carry her to run anyway."

Lee knelt and awkwardly pulled Fumiko's prone body onto his back, carefully shifting as he stood to get his hands under her legs. He couldn't really put his hand in the crook of her left knee- since there wasn't really anything to hold the weight- so that rested instead about halfway up her thigh. Her head rested against the back of Lee's neck, arms hanging limp at her sides.

"Then I suppose I'll have to tell him."

...

Gaara wasn't at any of the ordinary training grounds with his siblings when they finally found him. Instead, they were all sort of sparring and sort of lying under the shade of trees some distance out into the actual forests of Konoha, except for Gaara, who stood and leaned against a trunk. When he saw them, he quickly detatched himself to confront them.

"Gaara," Neji said, almost uncertainly because a Hyuuga couldn't be unsure or nervous of anyone. "Fumiko seems to have feinted."

"Feinted?" Gaara glanced at her, lying on Lee's back.

"We were just talking," Ten Ten said, raising two hands in front of her. "Fumiko stopped for a few seconds to take a breath, and then she just passed out on the ground. We couldn't wake her up at all for the life of us."

"How long ago was this?" Gaara asked, voice monotone.

"About an hour an a half ago," Lee answered truthfully, hefting his load.

There was a moment of tense silence during which the Sand Siblings came to check out what was going on and snickered at their anxious faces, like there was nothing wrong at all. Finally, Gaara's face smoothed, almost like he'd been pretending.

"It's alright," he said in his low, gravelly voice, tone tinged with amusement. A hissing sound filled the air as sand rose and swirled behind Lee, gently lifting Fumiko from his grasp. She didn't even stir. "She didn't feint. She fell asleep. She does this sometimes."

"But- she didn't even seem tired before," Ten Ten protested. "She was going a hundred miles and hour and then she just falls asleep? No matter what we did, we couldn't wake her up. It's like she's in a coma for crying out loud!"

"She doesn't sleep much," Kankuro added dryly at their confused expressions. "It wasn't even her that was tired, just her body was physically exhausted. She sleeps a little more than Gaara does, and that's not a lot."

The sand drifted a short distance away. Fumiko slept on, one arm dangling from the yellow cloud, the other tucked underneath her head. Her legs were curled into her chest. She was completely unaware that she was being moved, but to Gaara's credit, the sand was being more gentle than Neji could ever have imagined Gaara's sand being. It dropped her gently in a patch of shade shifting under the cover of a clump of smaller trees, where Neji realized Shikamaru was already napping.

The sand slithered out from beneath her. Fumiko shifted once, twice, sort of stretched, and then was still.

Sand slowly drained back into Gaara's gourd as he looked over his shoulder at where he had put her. After a second, he turned back to them. "It's nearly impossible to wake her up when she's asleep," he explained. "Very few things can. But, thank you for bringing her to me."

...

When Fumiko woke up, she was being prodded in the cheek.

"Hey, so you're alive." a familiar, easy voice drawled.

The air was warm, sunlight seeping in through the sun-spotted, dark green foliage far above her head. She moved her hand, pleasantly startled when she realized the ground was soft with grass. A ladybug buzzed in front of her eye for a minute, climbing up a blade of grass like some mountaineer, before flying off.

"Leave her be, Shikamaru," Fumiko heard Temari snark. "Like you're any better."

"Ngh... Shikamaru?" Fumiko mumbled sleepily when she blinked his face into vision. He was lying on his side in the grass in a position that nearly mirrored hers, except that his arm was stretched out and he was still poking her in the face. "I was talking to Lee and Neji and Ten Ten in the training fields and..." she blinked again. "Forest?"

"You fell asleep again," said another familiar voice, low and rumbling. Fumiko smiled a little and sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Shikamaru pretty much rolled away to give her space. "They brought you here."

Kankuro attacked with his puppets, and Gaara didn't even seem to notice. His sand jumped up to block. Kankuro cursed.

"No fair, Gaara!" he complained. "How is this training if we can't catch you off guard- ahh!"

Kankuro wiped out from where he had been hiding, sprawling out of the bushes as sand clocked him in the back of the head and tripped him up. He hit the grass with a thud, and right away his puppet crumbled into lots of separate pieces.

Temari burst out laughing. "I guess we can still catch you off guard!"

"Ne, again?" Fumiko asked this of Gaara, rubbing at one eye still. "That's been happening more often lately."

"And you've been sleeping less and less." Gaara said not quite sternly, but more exasperated and slightly amused. "There's a pattern, Fumiko. You need to sleep more."

...

"You know, I've never actually seen his scar before," Mai remarked as she watched Fumiko wipe at the faded kanji with solution she had made herself. They sat in Fumiko's guest room at the Nara's, Fumiko and Gaara on the bed, and Mai lounging on the floor with her legs up against the wall. "It's always super red."

Fumiko brushed the hair out of her eyes, rubbing at the now exposed dark slivers of lines that made up Gaara's scar with her forefinger. "I'm surprised this doesn't heal," she murmured. "You've had worse damage than this before and had no scars."

"I'm not sure," Gaara admitted from her lap. He was stretched out on the bed, the whole tall form of him. "I've wondered the same thing."

"Oh well." Fumiko pulled the reusable tube of paint she always used for Gaara's bright red paint. She dabbed paint onto her brush and carefully leaned over his face, not letting her hair sweep across her work as she swept perfect, thicker mirrors of his old wounds. "I guess it doesn't matter."

"Hey, Gaara, when we get back, they're voting council, right?" Mai asked, kicking at the wall absently.

Gaara opened his mouth to answer but withered at Fumiko's pointed look. "No moving. Once this is on it's on." Then she grinned, technically at him, she supposed. "Yep. Things are gonna get pretty crazy when we get back. Especially when Gaara becomes-"

Mai's bored banging finally stirred a response. "Stop kicking the wall, Mai!"

"Shut up, Shikamaru! I can kick the wall if I want to!" As if to prove her point, she kicked it again, harder.

"That's not even your room!"

"So what!"

Fumiko just shook her head, smiling, and Gaara smiled back.


	2. Free Ice Cream and New Uniforms

Sadly, Fumiko had been right about the 'crazy' part.

As soon as they got back from Konoha- with many promises to keep their friends updated on the Kazekage business- Gaara had immediately been swamped by people, paperwork, and adequacy tests, which of course meant that Fumiko was busy talking, helping to fill out forms, and watching him train.

Right now, she was doing a combination of all three.

Fumiko was singing quietly to herself under her breath, kind of watching Gaara as he flipped backwards across the sand to avoid the 'proctor's' attacks. Really, he could have taken the man down already, but he was trying to prove that his sand, though powerful, wasn't his only defense. So instead, he was using a combination of Wind style jutsus, taijutsu, and the occasional sand attack just to keep him on his toes.

To her left, she was being interviewed by somebody named Fukushima Okichi from a newspaper. Surprisingly, the woman really had wanted to interview her and not Gaara, something about the strain of being involved with somebody on the fast track to Kage status.

Fumiko blinked slowly at the question, looking down at the personal response paperwork- which she actually could answer in Gaara's stead- and tried to keep track of the reporter's words. "What?"

"I asked if this whole business with Sabaku no Gaara striving to become Kazekage has put any strain on your relationship with him."

Fumiko looked up at her, pencil freezing just above the paper to answer a question about additional skills/noteworthy attributes, puzzled. "Of course not."

"Ah," Okichi said. "So you are in a relationship with Sabaku no Gaara?"

Fumiko cracked a grin as she realized exactly what she was being asked. Gaara had heard it as well, even in the middle of his spar. Fumiko knew this because he instantly stumbled, almost opening himself to an attack that was thankfully blocked by sand, and his face flushed as he did so, although that might have been considered to be a part of his exertion from battle. "Ne, wait, that's not what I meant. We're friends."

Okichi raised her eyebrows suggestively. "Good friends?"

Fumiko nodded before turning back to her work. "Best friends."

...

"Do you think I waited too long to end that fight?" Gaara asked as they walked back to the tower together. Fumiko limped along, papers bundled in her arms. "I mean, do you think it would have been better to just use my sand? The Kazekage is supposed to hold the title of being strongest without a doubt."

Fumiko considered. "No, I don't think so. I mean, wasn't it included in your mission report about Matsuri that you had been swamped with water and disabled?"

Gaara blinked. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

"That's probably why the Heads sent that guy to test you, then," Fumiko said with a smile. "To see if you would be adequate to protect the village in the event that you couldn't use your sand. But at the same time, it's good that you used your sand for some things, because that shows how strong that is. Besides, that proctor looked pretty freaked about your ultimate defense. And he must have known you were holding back."

"Huh," he said, then spied the papers in her arms. "Hey wait, wasn't I supposed to fill those out?"

Fumiko shrugged. "You can look over my answers if you want, but I'm pretty sure I answered them right. After all," she said, bumping his shoulder with hers and laughing. "I usually know how your head works."

"Usually," he allowed with a small smile.

"So how about that reporter, huh?" Fumiko said. "I was told it would be mostly about your running for kazekage, but it turned out to be more of a gossip angle than anything else, don't you think?"

Gaara flushed. "You didn't even blink."

"Why should I?"

"Well, because, um..." Gaara was red. "Because, well... I don't know. Because."

"Because why?" Fumiko asked curiously.

"Oh look, there's the tower," Gaara said instead of answering her question, looking away and pointing forward. Fumiko blinked at the sudden change of subject, but looked anyway at the towering building slowly getting bigger and bigger as they got closer. "Lots and lots of paperwork to do."

...

"How did you do that?" Mai demanded, storming into her room.

Fumiko looked up from her painting, blinking at her sister over the canvas resting on her easel. It was a half-finished full-detail portrait of somebody that had asked her to do it for them, someone she had never actually met but had mailed her the request from the land of iron along with a picture of herself and an... offer... of money. Apparently, she had met Fumiko's friend the Rich Art Collector.

"Do what?"

"Get voted onto civilian council!" Mai scowled. "Isn't that, like, against the rules or something?"

Fumiko dropped her paintbrush, splattering black onto the floor right next to the yellow, pink, and green paint stains. "Do what?"

"I just heard it from Gaara. He thought you would have been notified already. So you didn't even apply? That doesn't even make sense!"

Fumiko's lips twitched into a smile. "No, I didn't. But somebody must have. Sugar, that's so cool! I didn't even think about joining civilian council!"

It had been a little over a month since they had returned to Suna. Kankuro was on a mission, Temari was still working part-time at the Academy, and Gaara was in his room at the Tower, smothered with a hundred and five little things to do that he refused to let her help him with at least for the day. Anyway, Fumiko was supposed to be working her shift at the hospital, but they had mysteriously given her an almost complete, paid month long vacation time riddled with a smattering of days she had to come in.

Huh, she thought. Guess it's not much of a mystery why anymore.

"I bet everybody voted for you," Mai sniffed. "Everybody loves you all of a sudden."

"Is something wrong?" Fumiko stepped out around the easel to stand in front of her sister. "I thought that was a good thing. Now we have one more definite vote in Gaara's favor."

"It is a good thing." Mai crossed her arms. "But I applied too."

"For what? As a Genin?" Fumiko giggled a little bit. "But, you haven't graduated from the Academy yet."

"And you didn't even apply!"

"I wonder who did," Fumiko mused. "I mean, someone must have put my name in. That's kinda weird, actually. Isn't there a bunch of paperwork involved?"

Mai raised her arms in a slow, deliberate shrug. Thin, wiry muscles were set into her biceps now, the result of constantly pounding away at her punching bags, swinging around her swords, and training by herself or occasionally with Kankuro or Gaara. Her black hair had gotten a little longer; brushing an inch or two past her shoulders. Her lips had a slash scar across them, the mark left from her fight with Seimei.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go hack apart dummies."

"Okay. Just make sure to replace them," she called to her sister's already retreating back, then shrugged and went back to her painting, picking up her brush and accidentally smearing ithe color across her fingers.

Right above the blue, purple, and brown paint stains on her palm.

...

Five days off, two one-sided arguments about technicalities, and one last wish good luck to Gaara later, Fumiko was sitting in a stuffy, wood-paneled room with twenty-five others, seated around one of the biggest round metal tables Fumiko had ever seen. There were stacks of papers, ballots, that they couldn't fill out until having a day-long discussion of it's contents.

Yes or no.

Two of the people there were actually Fumiko's workmates. She recognized a few of the children present, along with one former bully that sat across from her and refused to meet her eyes. Five or six of them she vaguely recognized from petitioning around the village. Aside from that, however, they were complete strangers, most of them arguing about things they didn't know about.

"He's killed people before."

"Almost every attack was aggravated."

"How do we know we can trust him?"

"He's too young to be Kazekage. He's barely fourteen, for crying out loud!"

"But he is powerful..."

"Let's not forget there's a demon inside him."

"He helped me inside during a storm once."

Fumiko tried to open her mouth a few times but was always cut off. "Excuse me-"

"My dad's a ninja, and he told me to vote no."

"Well, my husband is a shinobi as well, and told me that the young man is very trustworthy under pressure. I think we should all vote yes. I mean, there hasn't been an actual attack in years!"

"Not yet, anyway."

"Excuse me-"

"He's only a Genin. How can a genin be Kazekage? That's never happened before, for any of the Kages! Even I know that!"

"I don't know much about ninja ranking and all of that, but I would say that Gaara kid is quite a bit stronger than any of the Jonin in this village. I don't see why that matters."

"I think yes."

"I think no."

"Of course."

"I'm not so sure."

"What about what the children say? That he's very nice, just quiet?"

"Children are children. They can't be expected to actually judge a person's character correctly."

"Hey!" the children chorused in protest.

"I met him once, in the hospital. He had chakra exhaustion from too many missions after that whole mess with Konoha, I think."

"Excuse me!" Fumiko finally said loudly. Most of the heads swiveled her way, although a few people continued to bicker. "Um, thanks. You know, I can answer any questions you have. I don't think there's anything wrong with Gaara being Kazekage."

"Of course not! You're his friend."

Fumiko smiled. "That just means he isn't mean!"

"Well, what about his age? Don't you think fourteen is a little young to run a village?"

"You don't know this, but ninja tend to have their hands in a lot of things. Not to mention that the fourth Kazekage was Gaara's dad, so he picked up some stuff there too. Gaara knows this village inside out and backwards. And if he's young when he starts, that means he'll be a competent Kazekage longer than most and have even more time to adjust."

"What about the people he killed?"

Fumiko chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "Most of them were actually assassins sent by the Kazekage, but I fully admit the rest were villagers. Usually though, they started a fight Gaara was forced to finish."

"You mean by the demon!"

"Why would the fourth try to assassinate his own son!?"

"Even his best friends admits to it!"

"Uh, Uh," she stuttered slightly as her brain caught up. "Shukaku is well under control now, I promise. He's more capable of restricting it now. And, well, because you were all terrified of him. He decided because of those few villagers Gaara killed that Gaara was unstable and needed to be eliminated for the village's sake."

They buzzed amongst themselves for a second. Fumiko seized the opportunity.

"And Gaara is the most capable Kazekage you'll find. He's definitely the strongest in Wind country, and he's smart, too, enough to run a village at least. I know that if you give him a chance, Gaara will surprise you."

They were silent for a moment.

"Uh... Shukaku," said her old bully, the one who had always stolen her things and pushed her down at the civilian school, said timidly. "Is Shukaku evil?"

"I don't know," Fumiko admitted. "I don't like the idea of calling anything evil, but Shukaku is definitely not nice. I saw him in action during the invasion of Konoha, and it wasn't fun, I'll tell you that."

"And Gaara. Is he evil?"

Fumiko didn't flinch, but her fingers twisted together on the table. "What? No."

"So- so all those times he tripped us and hit us and threatened us-"

"If you didn't notice, all of those things happened only the times after he figured out you'd been hurting me." Fumiko pointed out, not angrily but truthfully. Gaara had always disappeared for hours at a time after spotting bruises, frantic searches for homework and lunchboxes, or sometimes the occasional weirdly cut, choppy hair that was impossible to hide. It didn't really take a genius to figure out where he kept disappearing to.

There were also the few times he had been present without the boys at her school knowing, and that had never ended well.

The boy shrunk under the collective stares. "... Right... I vote..." he hesitated. "I vote yes."

...

Fumiko cheerfully checked off yes. She didn't know what everyone else was putting down, but considering how they had all been nodding along to her words by the end of the day, she was feeling pretty confident that the civilian side of the voting was cinched. Afterward she would have to find Baki, who'd of course been voted as a Shinobi council member, and see how things had gone on his end.

Then she yawned, standing up and putting her ballot-with-no-name-but-a-few-random-doodles into the box sitting on a stool-stand thing by the door and exiting the room.

Instead of going home or going up to Gaara's room in the tower, she headed into the Archive Library, which was still at the fourth, third, and second to top floors of the Tower. Gaara had taken to hanging out there when he didn't have other things to do, cramming like a schoolboy class clown that had realized an exam was the next day, studying the history and workings of Suna.

He actually wasn't supposed to have clearance to half of what he read, being a Genin, but being the son of a former Kazekage granted access at least a level higher. Chuunin tended to need to know a bit more about how their systems worked, after all.

The chuunin librarian didn't even blink at her as she passed into the chuunin floor of the library.

"Hi, Sui. Is Gaara here?"

"Hey, sweetie. Yes, I think he's researching ninja relations and T&I."

"Thanks."

"No problem. I hope he makes it through. That poor boy's been working his ass off- I mean, uh, working his butt off."

Fumiko smiled. "It's okay, Sui. Mai's my little sister, remember?"

Sui sort of grimaced, waving her forward. "Right, right. Go ahead on in."

Stepping in, Fumiko took in the smell of wood, sand, and musty books and scrolls. Legend had it there were books in the higher levels written before the creation of the Hidden Sand village, something she wanted to look into when Gaara became Kazekage.

"Gaara," she called, voice echoing through the mostly-empty-save-for-that-one-chuunin-in-the-corner-shushing-her bookshelves. "Hey, Gaara."

"I'm over here, Fumiko," Gaara's voice materialized from somewhere in the far wing in the Archive floor.

Fumiko trotted around for a few seconds, following the sound of his voice, and finally peeked around a bookself to see a tight little dead-end of shelves and books, Gaara sitting with his back against one, surrounded by stacks of knee-high books and folded scrolls, scanning through a book.

Fumiko sort of skipped, sort of dragged herself over, peering down at his book, which he promptly snapped shut before she could read a single word. "What are you reading about?"

"T&I. You don't need to read any of it."

"Okay."

His slightly tensed shoulders relaxed when he realized she wasn't going to fight him about it. Granted, Fumiko was usually much more curious than that, but today she was just stiff from that eight hour meeting and wanted to hang out. She didn't really know what T&I was- she'd never heard of it- but she pushed that aside, scooted a pile of scrolls away, and plopped down on the floor beside her friend.

"So how did the meeting go?"

"Pretty good, I think," she answered, stretching her arms above her head and smiling when her shoulders popped. "I changed a couple of minds. Hey, remember that kid from my school, Shunichi?"

Gaara's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes. He was on council?"

"Yep. He actually apologized and voted for it."

"Did he?" Gaara frowned. "I still don't like him."

Fumiko laid her head on his shoulder, sort of slumping slightly. "Hmm," she said. "Still mad, huh?"

"Of course I'm still mad." Gaara said with so much disbelief that he almost sounded offended. "He pinned you against a desk and cut your hair with safety scissors!"

Fumiko shrugged with one shoulder, the other pressed against Gaara's arm. "He's probably better now. Besides, the meeting went well, and hair isn't that big of a deal. I'm pretty sure you're set with the villager side of things."

"There you go again, changing the subject," Gaara sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and putting his book aside. But despite his words, he wound an arm around her shoulder. "You need to learn to take offense at some things."

"If I was any good at taking offense, we wouldn't be friends."

"Yes, well, Shunichi doesn't have psychological damage and a demon to explain his actions. He was just malicious."

"Mmm," Fumiko hummed, reaching out for a book. Gaara took his hand off her shoulder and reached around her to take hold of her wrist, steering it away.

"No."

"Aww. Why not?"

"Because you're not allowed."

"You're no fun."

"Neither is T&I. Trust me. It's bitter."

"What does that stand for, anyway? T&I." Fumiko pushed her face up to blink at him. Gaara's face pinched a little.

"No comment."

"If it's so bad, why are you reading it?"

Gaara sighed, head banging back into the bookshelf. Well, the sand jumped up and stopped it from banging against the leather-bound books, but he came close enough, eyes staring up at the ceiling like why me? "Because there are some things Kage have to know that aren't all that great, okay?"

"Mngh."

"Don't read it."

"But Gaara~"

"Please."

She puffed out a breath, sort of a laugh. "Oh, fine."

...

Fumiko fidgeted in place. Then sat down on the floor. Then stood back up and leaned casually against the wall.

Then she started tapping her fingernails against it.

"Fumiko, calm down," Gaara sighed, but he looked pretty tense himself.

With good reason. Tomorrow the results of the voting would be revealed- well, today, since it was four in the morning and they were having a stayover at his house- and the Heads had been holding their meeting all night.

According to Baki, the shinobi voting had gone over mostly well. He didn't have as many answers she would have had, Baki had admitted, and would have liked her to be there, but it had been at least a little more than half in Gaara's favor. If that was the case, then they had two-thirds vote, but still... Gaara was nervous.

Fumiko, however, was excited.

"I just know you're gonna be Kazekage in a few hours," she said with a face-splitting grin. "Oh, I just can't stand it!"

"I could wait." Gaara said. He was starting to look a little green after two days of fretting and worst-case-scenario-ing. Even though Gaara had never gotten sick before, he almost looked like he was going to throw up. Fumiko patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"It's okay, Gaara."

"How are you so certain all the time?" he muttered. "I'd like to learn how to do it."

"Some things you just know, Gaara," Fumiko said, then flopped onto the bed. Dominating a large bit of Gaara's headboard was a recently painted Wind symbol, born of whirling thoughts and itchy fingers. Gaara didn't really seem to mind. "Like, I know that you're gonna be Kazekage, and I also know that Mai is playing ninja at their door and would have raised an unholy fit by now if things weren't going your way."

"Mai's doing what?" Gaara looked horrified.

"Ne, you taught her. You know she won't get caught."

"But- But-"

"She's using transformation to be a plant."

Gaara apparently couldn't think of anything to say to that and fell silent. But, Fumiko noticed, he looked just a little calmer now.

...

"Oh Kami," Gaara whispered from the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

"Just breathe." Fumiko whispered back.

"But I-"

"Take a damn breath, Gaara," Mai said. "You're golden, trust me."

They were all on what wasn't quite a stage, more of a raised platform built a few days before the announcement. Temari and Kankuro were there as well, only they had their lips pursed, silent. Fumiko wasn't sure why they were all allowed up here, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

"Ahem." the Elder cleared his throat, silencing the restless crowd. Fumiko wasn't sure why everyone would be called to a meeting that, theoretically, had a chance of denying the position. What would they all do then? Just go home? "Thank you all for waiting."

"Mai, did you hear them say yes, certainly?" Gaara asked almost faintly, although physically he looked just as collected and stoic as he always did when faced with other people, arms crossed and face set calmly.

"No, but I-"

"You didn't?"

Mai didn't scowl, just kept the neutral expression on her face. "No, but I heard enough before they started to get up and I had to hightail it out of there before I got arrested and sent to T&I, dammit, so chill."

Fumiko almost wanted to ask again what T&I was, but she got the feeling Mai wouldn't tell her either.

Fumiko tuned back in at exactly the best time.

"-and as a result of voting, it has been determined that by a large margin, Gaara of Sunagakure has been elected the Fifth Kazekage of Suna, charged with protecting the village and it's people!"

There was a loud, almost beautifully violent cheer from the entirety of Suna's population.

Fumiko's smile stretched so wide she thought it might break. Her heart pounded, her fingers twitched, and it took all of her control not to jump up and down screaming. But she did take Gaara's hand- Gaara who was staring wide-eyed at the crowd- and squeezed it. She whispered, "I told you," but doubted it could be heard over the roar of the crowd.

Somehow, Gaara got word of something, probably from a ninja.

"Speech?" he said.

"You didn't plan for that, did you?" Fumiko guessed.

"No, but I suppose I'll just have to follow your lead on this one."

"Follow- my lead?"

"I'm going to wing it," he said carefully as the Elder turned to look at him. "You know... from the heart."

"I'm gonna wing it. Y'know, from the heart."

Oh my sugar, she thought.

"I'll keep smiling at you," Fumiko promised.

Gaara closed his eyes briefly. "I would like that."

Then he was pulled away, hand slipping from hers, to the front, and the cheering became almost deafening; and Gaara put his shoulders back and looked out at the crowd and opened his mouth and talked.

And as he did, Fumiko smiled.

...

Everyone was crowing and yelling and basically freaking out.

There was food all over the place, having already been made by Fumiko in foresight of such an event, on the tables and the counters and in some places, on the floor. Streamers and balloons were thrown haphazardly around the house, including one stray red balloon in the bathroom tied to the showerhead with chakra with a devil face drawn on it in permanent marker- Gaara was pretty sure he knew whose fault that was, but the Tanto user was already talking with a few Jonin.

But it was a party.

The Mitsuwas always threw good parties.

Their house was filled to the brim with ninja Gaara knew and civilians Fumiko worked with and family members of both of them. Fumiko was floating around somewhere with drinks, mingling and chatting with her fellows from the hospital. Gaara was even sure he saw Mrs. Mitsuwa taking money from one or two of them with an almost smug look on her face, but he might have been wrong.

He still couldn't believe it. Kazekage.

Gaara smiled.

"Hey," someone said beside him, an unknown voice he didn't recognize. Gaara turned around with a start, not quite jostling few people out of the way as he tried not to spill his soda. There was a girl looking up at him with tanned skin and blond hair and round blue eyes.

"Hello," he greeted politely. "... Do I know you?"

"Um... no..." The girl fidgeted, then smiled shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and giggling slightly. "My name is Mitsuko."

"Gaara," he said, nodding at her.

"I know."

There was an awkward silence. Well, awkward for him; Mitsuko just kept smiling and giggling. Gaara wasn't quite sure what to do, or what this girl wanted, or why she was getting so close. He backed up slightly.

"Uh..."

"Back off." A familiar voice growled. Mai. "He's not interested."

"Interested?" Gaara said with wide eyes. "... Oh."

"How would you know?" Mitsuko pouted. "You're not his girlfriend."

Mai snorted so loudly that Gaara almost felt offended. "Yeah, right. He doesn't have one."

"Yes, well..." Gaara backed up a little more, nearly bumping into a fellow ninja that gave him a weird look before moving on. "I'm going to find Fumiko now..."

"Aw, why can't you stay a while?" Mitsuko purred, trying to step closer. Mai cut her off, hands on her hips.

"Try it. I'll knock your perfect white teeth in." Mai sniffed. "Go ahead, Gaara. I'll handle this."

Gaara promptly fled, skittering away like Fumiko did from thunder sounds.

He slipped through the hum of people, lifting his drink above heads and below elbows and running into the same situation twice more, only without Mai's help. He always politely excused himself- I have to go to the bathroom. No, you can't come with me.

It was confusing. And gross.

Finally he found her, standing with a group of med-nin and talking about things he didn't understand, throwing around big words like Occipital hematoma, intracerebral, and arteriovenous angioma. He pulled her aside, apologizing and nodding to the people staring at him.

The only room not filled with people was the bathroom, so you couldn't call Gaara a liar when he locked the door behind him and sighed.

"Something wrong?" Fumiko said curiously, voice not quite shot with amusement. She did that thing where she tilted her head at him and smiled that made it impossible to believe she could punch you hard enough to make you cough up blood.

Yeah, he'd watched a few of her training sessions with the dummies, too.

"Girls are flirting with me," he said urgently. The balloon floated into his face ad he batted it's fanged face away.

"Girls are... what?"

"Flirting with me," he repeated. "And being really... uncensored about it."

"Oh." Another smile danced across her lips. "And so now we're hiding in the bathroom?"

Yes, he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but he didn't care. Those girls were scary, damn it, and not in the bad-guy-he-could-kill-in-a-second kind of way. That kind of scary he could deal with. He didn't answer, and she seemed to pick up on his discomfort.

"Come on," she said, taking one of his hands and reaching to unlock the door. "I'll take care of it."

"How?"

"Watch," she said, and took his elbow in both hands as they rejoined the party. "I learned this from Ino."

Gaara didn't quite know what 'this' was, but it seemed to work well enough. They walked through the party, saying hello to various people, eating, and drinking the last of the soda until slowly people began to trickle out of the house. No girls approached, although Gaara caught many staring.

"Why are they doing that?" he had whispered once. Fumiko shrugged.

"Ino said something about being hot. Also probably because you're the Kazekage now."

"That's really shallow. And weird. And what does Ino talk to you about when I'm not there, anyway?"

Fumiko didn't have to answer that question, because they got called over again to another group of people congratulating Gaara. It was strange, all these people smiling at him and touching him and laughing like he was an old friend, patting him on the shoulder or smacking his back or shaking his free hand. He wasn't so sure if he would ever get used to it.

...

Finally, everyone was gone, Mai was passed out on the couch and her breath smelled suspiciously like sake- something her mother was not happy about at all- and Gaara felt about tired enough to fall asleep himself. Fumiko's mother shooed them away to Fumiko's room, which was scattered with random things like cups and a few of her paints had been spilled onto the ground and smeared onto blank canvases.

Fumiko just shrugged wearily. "Oh well. I made enough on that portrait to replace it all."

They both sprawled out on her bed, exhausted.

"I'm tired," Gaara said dumbly. "I don't think I can meditate."

"Then go to sleep."

"But I..."

"I'll-" Fumiko yawned. "Watch over you. Go to sleep, Gaara. I won't let it get to deep."

"You look ready to pass out too."

"Go to sleep, Gaara."

And, surprisingly, he did.

...

Gaara woke to the sound of Mai stumbling into Fumiko's room, swearing loudly and demanding that Fumiko heal her hangover.

"Why are you already complaining about hangovers like Kankuro?" Gaara groaned as he came to, blinking out of an almost completely dreamless sleep with a little surprise. His chest was weirdly warm, but it wasn't unpleasant, so his sleep-fogged brain didn't really care. "You're eleven."

"So?" Mai muttered sulkily. "Why are you already sleeping with girls? You're only fourteen."

This was sufficient to jolt him awake. "What?"

"Look at yourself, dumbass."

"Are you still drunk?" Gaara grumbled, but looked down. And nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Fumiko curled up on top of him like a cat, somehow impossibly nothing on her body touching the bed except for one of her arms, fast asleep. Her cloak was on the ground somewhere. "Damn it!" he slipped, startled.

"Ha," Mai snarked, pointing, then winced. "Ow. Now wake her up."

"I don't think I can." he said uncomfortably, voice muffled. "You know that."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? Ow." she glared at him through the slits between her fingers, holding her head. "Ask my mom to do it?"

"She already knows you got drunk last night."

"Shit! How?"

"You smelled like alcohol."

Mai took a deep breath, then exhaled. "You said Kankuro does this?"

"Sometimes, yeah." Gaara answered. This conversation was getting weirder and weirder.

"Good. I'm gonna go find Kankuro then."

And she left, shunshin swirling a few stray pieces of paper with half finished drawings into the air, leaving the door wide open and light streaming into the room. For a second, Gaara was left alone staring at the girl lying on him, totally spooked.

Then he got ahold of himself and carefully moved her onto the bed before getting up, rubbing at his eyes.

...

"Well... you look official."

Gaara raised his arms. He was clothed from head to toe in mostly white, the standard Kazekage uniform, which actually didn't look so bad on him at all. He looked ridiculously pleased under his wide brimmed hat, smile twitching across his face, eyes proud.

"I still can't believe it."

"Well you better soon." she gave a lopsided smile. "Because in two days I start back up at the hospital, and you have a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, and I won't be here to organize things."

They were standing inn the fourth Kazekage's office. It made Fumiko glad she had cleaned it that one day she was bored, because if not, it would smell like rotted steak. And be dirty. Now the sun was streaming through the windows and everything was just a little dusty again... but mostly clean.

"I don't even care."

...

Over the next few weeks, Fumiko worked almost full time at the hospital, trying to get used to having a work routine again. Some people thought it was weird that she was fourteen and had a steady job at the hospital, but others would agree that her skills unrelated to jutsu were invaluable since she couldn't lose chakra and have to retire halfway through the day.

But Gaara was absolutely destroyed with paperwork the Fourth hadn't been able to do, and usually Fumiko had to go to the Tower at ungodly hours in the morning in between sleeping and working and painting to make sure he ate, wasn't twitching or staring at walls, and that every once in a while he took a watched-over nap. Sometimes he had nightmares, sometimes he didn't.

"You know," she had told him once, "you're even more perfectly qualified for this job than I thought!"

His bleary, semi-confused response was, "Mm. Why's that?"

"Because you can't sleep."

She helped with paperwork, but there was a lot she didn't quite understand and a few things he wouldn't let her look at, so she usually stuck to feeding him and keeping his office organized and keeping the top drawer of Gaara's desk well stocked with aspirin. She also brought in a little cactus-plant in a pot so he didn't go crazy from staring at nothing but office supplies.

Fumiko sent letters to the friends in Konoha. Gaara had panicked a little at the size of the stack of papers in her arms until he realized that it wasn't more work the assistant outside had given to her for him, but letters from friendly, human people, and taken a short break to read through and answer them.

It got better. The flow of paperwork slowed slightly, and Gaara got better at handling the workload. He was still gone most of the time, going home at about two or three in the morning only to leave again at five or six. Fumiko had a crazy schedule as well, getting off work at about eleven or twelve at night, going up to the tower to make sure her friend was stable, then either went home or crashed in his room depending on how tired she was, only to wake up at eight or nine to get to work.

When she wasn't sleeping during her free time, she was painting.

...

"I take it back," Gaara groaned, pinching his nose almost two month after his inauguration. "I take everything back."

Fumiko placed a plate of Soba noodles on his papers, pot really caring if she spilled any on them or not. "Eat. You'll feel better in the morning. Tomorrow's your day of, remember?"

"Is it?" Gaara blinked owlishly. "I thought that was next week."

...

Walking down the street was a completely different experience than it had once been.

People smiled, people waved, little kids snuck closer to ask for autographs. Ms. Tatsuno Kaiya at the hospital spoke to her with ease now, as did the part-time cashier at the clothes store. Mai ran up to them once or time, freaking out because nobody was bothering her anymore and boys were asking her out because apparently, she was cute. The clothes store let her buy just one shoe, and for once the vendors didn't mind her window-shopping.

Fumiko called in sick to work. They spent his day off doing normal, blissfully old things, like swinging and walking and making sand castles and hanging out in her room while she painted. They also bought ice cream- or, tried to, the man had looked absolutely starstruck and refused to let them pay for the bowls- and settled on Suna's walls to eat the already melting treats.

Fumiko tilted her head back as she drank the last of her ice cream, still keeping an eye on the deepening red-orange colors of the sunset.

"This was a good day." Gaara said quietly.

"Yep," she agreed.

"Work is getting easier."

"It looks like it." Fumiko said, grin playing across her lips. "If they gave you the day off, it probably means you caught up with all the stuff you got buried under initially that piled up while there was no Kazekage to deal with it. Weird that nobody even tried, like chuunin or something. But, when you go back, you should have like two-thirds what you did before."

"It doesn't sound like much of a difference," Gaara said with a small, twitching smile that seemed exasperated and desperate more than happy. "But I dealt with it all so I know that two-thirds would be heaven right about now."

"At least you get free ice cream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't do the speech because my stupid brain couldn't think of it. So start it off with PEOPLE OF SUNA! and fill it in with the most epic, meaningful words you possibly can, and that was his speech. Yes.


	3. Batty

Going home after hospital shifts was becoming more and more difficult.

For one thing, her house was farther away from the hospital than the Kazekage tower. Only by a few minutes, but still. For another, it was a habit of hers to climb up to the Kazekage office and check in, maybe fix dinner/breakfast because she knew he hadn't eaten yet, and generally make sure that Gaara was actually processing reality and not just absently tapping his pencil all over his spot-ridden papers with a blank look in his eyes.

Considering she did that at about one every morning, getting up the motivation to walk all the way back to her house instead of just curling up in bed or even pulling up a chair beside Gaara and working or painting until she either decided to meditate or randomly blacked out was next to impossible. Fumiko still didn't need to sleep much... but now, at fourteen, the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with her, and she didn't have Shukaku's vitality to make up for it.

And, if she was going to be completely honest- and she usually was- her house just wasn't home. She felt more comfortable sleeping in Gaara's bed or office than she did in her own bed at home. She got to wake up, say hi to the staff or Kankuro (Temari was usually gone by then) make breakfast for whoever was around to want it, say good morning to Gaara- who was always working- and then go to work.

When she got home, she would make dinner- but since it was usually like one or two in the morning the only people other than herself and Gaara were the night shift chuunin and Jonin guards that came to expect her popping in with various food dishes, she didn't make much, ate, then brought whatever was left up to Gaara, who sometimes ate and sometimes didn't.

Sometimes, a very rare sometimes, she would go home and go to sleep. When she woke up there, everyone was sleeping but her mother, who had already left for her morning shift at the hospital and whom she relieved at the hospital. She made breakfast quietly, went to the hospital, and started the process again.

Gaara was so easily her best friend. She preferred his home to hers because of that just as much as because of the pros and cons. His home was her home, as had been proven... she could always go to him, even when he was working, even when it was three in the morning during a Suna rainstorm, and all of the times in between. Her own home was plagued with enough doubts to make it, well... uncomfortable for her friend.

Fumiko of course extended the same invitation... and Gaara knew that, but both of them at her house at the end of the day or in the middle of the night- all there was then was bitterness, which was why when he came to her they went to the swings, or the walls, or even the desert outside Suna to just walk depending on how late it was.

Fumiko wasn't exactly sure when Gaara meditated. Well, she knew that once in a while when he was worn ragged, she made him sleep for real and then watched over him for as long as he could sleep before waking up or having a nightmare, but he wasn't in his office all the time.

She was pretty certain that sometime between two and six in the morning he went downstairs to his room, because it was usually between those times that she woke up to either him carrying her to bed or already in bed and him sitting upright but slouched against the bed, not awake but not sleeping. When the latter happened, she would push the blankets on the floor beside him, curl up and pass out.

She always woke up the next day back in bed and wrapped in her covers, Gaara already gone.

When she did go home, it was usually only on the weekends- that was when she didn't work- and usually on Sunday, because most Saturdays lately Gaara had days off and they hung out. Again, she was going to be bluntly honest: it felt like she was visiting, not going home.

She helped Mai with her homework, mom with whatever meal she was there for, ad her father... well, she hadn't actually spoken with her father in years. He usually avoided her, which was kind of sad. Sure, sometimes she would say Hi! And he would grunt in response; or I'm going to Gaara's. In response to which he would either storm off or launch into a bitter monologue.

Sometimes it made her sad, but usually, she would just smile and continue with what she was doing.

Fumiko enjoyed spending time with her family, and took pains to do so. She just... didn't really live there anymore, and mentioned as much to them over a pot of stew.

Which was how she had ended up contemplating the idea of really not living there anymore.

Mai stared at her. A small chunk of beef hung from the corner of her lip, chopsticks hovering uncertainly between them. She swallowed, then pointed her sticks in Fumiko's direction, mouth slack. "Fumiko, sis, I wasn't seriously suggesting that you move there. I was being facetious."

"But it makes sense!" Fumiko said excitedly, waving her hands. Her food was already mostly gone- she'd eaten a late lunch with Temari, Kankuro, and Gaara and wasn't too hungry, so she hadn't given herself much. "I'm over there, like, all the time! I might as well make everything more convenient and bring the rest of my stuff there. I don't think Gaara'd mind."

"Fumiko, honey, are you sure about that?" her mother said uncertainly, frowning. "I know you're almost fifteen, and that soon you'll be able to make your own decisions, but isn't this kind of... sudden?"

"I visit on Sundays. That used to be what I did with Gaara, just hanging out over the weekend. Now it's the opposite."

"That's true, but I-"

"Wait!" Mai looked alarmed. "You're not really..."

"Mai, do you think I should just stay here?" Fumiko tilted her head. "Like, keep doing what I'm doing? Going back and forth and back and forth? I mean I probably can, but sometimes I wish I had my stuff over there."

"No, I mean, I..." Mai scowled. "I mean, I..." For a few seconds, Mai just blinked, scowling. Then she huffed. "You know what? You two are already almost freaking married. Kuso, I can't believe you haven't moved already."

Fumiko's mother sighed. "Your father isn't going to like it, but I..." Her fingers tightened on her chopsticks until they started to bend, making a weird creaking noise like cracking wood. "You might be right. Even if Gaara's a boy."

...

"You want to... say that again?" Gaara rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and staring at her blankly. "Move?"

"Yup." Fumiko said, popping the P. "I want to move here."

"Move- here?" Gaara spluttered. The sand around his desk jumped slightly, like it always did when he was startled, scattering a few papers onto the floor. For a second he just stared at her, and she knelt and picked up the papers, patting them into a neat pile before putting them back on his desk and smiling. Another beat of silence passed. "Wait a minute!"

"What?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I practically live here anyway. I mean, having all my stuff at home just makes it harder. Getting dressed, finding my stuff, trying to keep track of which room it's in..." Fumiko grinned. "Besides. I like it better here. It's more... home-y."

Gaara opened his mouth, then closed it again. He pinched his nose, then shook his head, pushing his papers away. "I needed to take a break anyway," he said. "Er, so, how did you decide to do this all of a sudden?"

"Um, Mai said, 'you two might as well live together, you always sleep together anyway'. And I thought, hey, that's actually really true, and I asked my mom about it and she said it was okay. So..." Fumiko smiled when she couldn't think of anything else to say. "Yeah."

Gaara smiled almost ruefully. "Of course she did."

...

"So, can I have your room?"

Fumiko straightened, accidentally dropping the brush she'd pawed around under the bed for. Picking it up, she smiled. "Why do you need my room?" she asked. "Isn't yours just as big?"

"Yeah, well..." she rubbed the back of her neck, smirking faintly. "Your room is already covered in sand, I keep breaking my punching bags, and when I graduate from the Academy I'm gonna need a lot more ninja weapons and supplies than I can shove in my closet."

Fumiko let out a startled laugh. "Uh, sure."

"So have you told your dad yet?" Gaara asked quietly as they walked through the hallways. "That you want to- move here."

The words still sounded uncertain, like he couldn't believe it. Okay, so she could admit that randomly deciding to move a week before you did so was kind of odd, but still. It wasn't like she hadn't been living there for practically a year. "Um, yeah," she said. "He, uh... didn't want me to. But, you know. Almost fifteen and all that."

"And he didn't argue?"

Of course he had argued. Her dad had reacted rather badly, actually, to the point where Mai had had to intervene. Not that she'd minded. Apparently, punching her dad in the face hard enough to knock her out had been a very specific to-do on her bucket list. Something Fumiko wasn't really sure of but had appreciated greatly at that moment, even if she had gone on to healing her father's concussion.

Still. His definite answer, which Fumiko was a little sad to ignore so much, was hell no.

"A little. But Mai took care of it."

Gaara frowned. "After all this time, you would think he would have gotten over it."

"You know my dad," Fumiko said, grinning. "He doesn't give up once he has his mind set on it. I had to get it from somewhere."

Gaara stopped, then turned to eye her seriously. They were only a few steps away from the group of guest rooms just four doors down from Gaara's, but Fumiko stopped anyway, prosthetic scraping. "Fumiko. I'm going to say this once. You are nothing like your father."

"Aww, Gaara." Fumiko smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know that."

Gaara puffed air before he shook his head and resumed walking. "I don't know how in the world you ended up with him as a father. He's been an absolute bastard the entire time I've known him." he muttered. He didn't look angry, but he did look frustrated somehow, like he couldn't figure out what he was saying but wanted to anyway.

Fumiko froze. "Gaara..."

"I'm sorry." he shook his head, eyes narrowed slightly. "Forget I said that. Let's just keep looking."

She smiled softly at his agitated shifting. "We haven't even started yet. But don't all these guest rooms look exactly the same?"

Gaara didn't smile exactly, but his face smoothed a little. He opened the door, sliding it into the wall. "Yes. More or less the same, perhaps a little smaller than mine, if I remember correctly."

Fumiko laughed. "Your room is like, four times bigger than mine anyway!"

When she stepped inside, Fumiko smiled. Yep, she thought. Dresser there, quilt on the bed, easel and canvases in the corner, enough space to hang almost all of her better works and still have room to paint the walls...

"Ooh, I think I like this one. Do you think my Konoha Blue Leaves will fit above the headboard?"

Gaara tilted his head slightly. "Is it the same size as my sunset painting?"

"Uh-huh."

"Mine is above by headboard... so yes. It should fit just fine."

...

"I can't believe how many boxes it takes to fill all of this stuff in," Fumiko said with a breathy laugh, having just hauled most of them into her room to be filled. "I mean, it's not like I have all that much stuff."

"It's your paintings and pencils and stuff that are the problem," Mai said moodily. "Why don't you just put a seal in the bottom of a box and fill it up with everything in your room? Wouldn't that be easier, Miss Fumiko the Medic-nin?"

"Um, well, it could possibly warp some of my works. Pockets of space-time tend to mess stuff up." Fumiko picked up her quilt, intending to start with the huge mash of blankets, sheets, and pretty blue curtains first in one of the medium sized boxes. "Also, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean what's wrong?" Fumiko didn't catch the pillowcase her sister tossed her from across the room; it fell over her head. She pulled it off, blinking and trying not to grin.

"You've been upset."

"Upset?" Mai scowled. "I'm not upset. Why would I be?"

"That's what I'm asking. Is it school, or dad, or maybe mom or something up with the shinobi boys again?"

Mai snorted slightly and lowered her voice sarcastically. "'Mai, come spar with me', 'Mai, come train with us'. 'Hey, Mai, do you wanna hang out sometime?'" Mai barked out a rough laugh. "Two seconds ago they would've been pushing me down stairs if they weren't afraid I'd bite them. Jeez. But, no, Fumiko. Nothing's wrong."

"Hey, Mai, do you know what Gaara says when he's upset about something?"

"No, what?"

"Nothing's wrong, Fumiko."

"Whatever!" Another projectile, a sock this time, just one right sock. She didn't really own any leftie socks. Fumiko caught this one, having almost expected it. Mai was sulking by her closet, folding clothes- sort of, if shoving everything into one or two boxes could be considered that- and she'd been the first to volunteer to help her pack up while Gaara was working, but still...

Fumiko turned, stepped towards her window, and carefully began the process of standing on her tiptoes and removing her curtains. "I think-" she grunted, trying to reach, "that maybe you're mad at me, but I'm not sure exactly-" Triumphant breath- "why."

"No; why would I be mad at you?" There was a ripping sound as Mai used her teeth to tear the packing tape and seal up the second box. In sloppy handwriting and permanent marker she had already marked the box Fumiko's clothes. "Nope. Not at all. I get your room anyways."

A few minutes of silence. Fumiko removed the other curtain and folded it, managing to fit all of her soft things into one box. She taped the flaps shut, the rough sound of it echoing off the walls. "You know..." she said, still smiling, as Mai hefted the two boxes, one on top of the other, to take out into the living room.. "I'll still make you maple milk."

Mai flinched so badly she dropped the boxes on her foot and cursed. "Kami damn these stupid prosthetics!"

Snarling quietly, she picked them back up and left the room. But, Fumiko noticed as she watched after her sister, there was just a little less tenseness in her shoulders, and her footsteps weren't cracking parts of the floor anymore.

Fumiko giggled to herself. Mai really was a kunoichi prodigy in every sense of the words- even if she couldn't pass a written exam to save her life or anyone else's. With her pure strength alone she could spar with Kiba and Lee. Though, she usually lost to Lee...

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Fumiko dropped down onto her knees to check one more time before she brought the box out to the living room to make sure she had gotten everything and that no blanket had been left behind.

Something caught her eye, waaayy in the back and wedged into a corner.

Mai returned.

"Ehh, what are you doing on the floor?"

"Can you move the bed?" Fumiko asked, crawling back out and smiling at her hopefully. Mai blinked at her, and then shrugged.

"Why the hell not?"

With not much effort at all, really, Mai had dragged the bed away from the wall enough so that Fumiko could wiggle in behind the headboard and pick up the little suspicious-looking brown mass in the corner that seemed familiar.

"Ah-hah!"

"Ah-hah what?"

Fumiko held up the tattered little bear with it's tiny black eyes and haphazard stitching. "I can't believe I just found this."

...

"I can't believe you found this," Gaara said, mildly surprised. "My bear..."

"That's exactly what I said, almost," Fumiko said, beaming. "We got almost everything packed up, by the way, I just need to find a way to get my furniture there. Maybe I can put out a D-rank to get everything moved."

Gaara glanced at the different sized boxes scattered and piled up in the living room, labeled with things like Paints, brushes, Blank canvas, Bed, easels, and a lot of them marked with Finished paintings. It really was amazing that her and Mai had managed to pack everything in just one day- considering how messy her room could be- or, in general, that she was moving into his home.

"Ne, Gaara?"

"Yes?"

Fumiko grinned. "There's a lot- I mean a lot- of sand in my room. I think I'd blow up the vacuum if I tried to get it out. Can you please help me?"

"Sure. We can just open the window and I'll pour it out."

"Well, hurry up, guys," Mai said, crossing her arms. "Don't want to wait around until it gets dark to start out to the Tower if we're going to issue a D-rank."

Gaara narrowed his eyes slightly. Why did Mai care if it was dark or not? As ninja, she knew perfectly well that Gaara could make his way through the dark of a familiar village with ease. And why did she look so anxious? He opened his mouth to answer, but Fumiko beat him to it.

"It'll only take a few seconds, probably," she said cheerfully.

Fumiko led him to her room, talking about what she was going to do with her new room and how much easier it was going to be to get to and from work, and that now they could both rest on beds, and how much of her stuff did he think was in his room?

Inwardly Gaara smiled. She was getting so excited over moving, it was hard not to feel happy about it. And he was happy about it, but the whole thing was still kind of startling, not to mention out of the blue. Today was a Thursday- not too much work to do, so he had left it to his three assistants for the day. "I'm not sure. Most of it is just clothes and painting supplies."

Fumiko flung open the door. There was a lot of sad in it- the result of the stuff clinging to his skin around the village and just building up around him, which had taken a long time by accident, but Fumiko had been delighted. It's like a little Suna in my room! she had exclaimed, studying the little drifts in the corners.

Fumiko opened the window and Gaara raised his hand. The sand rose. Gaara flicked his fingers slightly, and it rushed out the window, building up into a little dune just below the sill outside. Just moments later the room was clean again, bare except for a dresser, her homemade coat hooks, and the bed. Even her easels had been taken apart and packed away.

"Sweet," Fumiko said, closing the window and latching it. "I kinda wish I could do that."

Gaara hummed in response before a sudden racket caught his attention.

"I told her I didn't want her moving in with Gaara!"

Gaara blew out a long, exasperated breath. Dealing with Fukuda had been getting more and more tiresome throughout the years. It was always the same thing: First, being mad at Gaara, then, yelling at Fumiko, and usually ended with either Gaara scaring him with sand or both him and Fumiko just leaving. Becoming Kazekage hadn't really helped at all.

Though, ever since he had become Kazekage, Fukuda tended to call him Gaara instead of his usual old favorites, Monster or demon or demon-spawn.

"Fukuda, she's fourteen!" Gaara could hear Mrs. Mitsuwa cry back. "And she's never here anyway!"

"That wouldn't be an issue if she would just listen to anything I say!"

Fumiko had frozen where she stood, smile dropping from her face like a ten-ton weight. She bit her lip, something that Gaara knew would break through skin if she didn't stop soon. "Gaara..."

Gaara turned and headed back into the hallway to the living room. The noise got louder and louder as he got closer. Gaara could hear Fumiko's uneven footsteps behind him as they stepped back out into the living room.

Of course Mr. Mutsuwa- Fukuda- was trying to pick up one of the boxes, but Fumiko and her mother together had crafted something similar to medical seals that only responded to certain people and plastered them all over her things just in case something like this happened. He looked absolutely livid, but the only two expressions Gaara had seen on him was livid or disappointed.

"Fukuda," Gaara said quietly in his usual way. "Please calm down."

Fukuda whirled. "You!" he cried.

Gaara just closed his eyes slowly, not quite sighing. "Fumiko's moving. Pitching a fit isn't going to make her stay any more than it's going to make her suddenly hate me."

Fumiko's mother and Mai were standing across the room, Mai still balancing the three large boxes she'd initially been trying to move somewhere and now was trying to find a place to put them down and Mrs. Mitsuwa wringing her hands uncertainly.

Gaara was sure that Fukuda was working himself up to a full-blown typhoon, judging by the purplish color of his face, when Fumiko spoke up behind him.

Timidly.

Gaara scowled slightly. The only time Fumiko was ever timid was when she was trying to talk to her father, which was so ironic and stupid on so many levels that it pissed him off big time. Couldn't she do anything without this man trying his best to mess everything up?

"Dad, please stop it."

"No, Fumiko, you stop! You're acting ridiculous!"

Fumiko came out from around him, and padded toward her father. Gaara watched carefully but didn't follow, though his sand swirled anxiously in the gourd strapped to his back. "No I'm not," she tried. "It's better for me to move there."

"Better?" Fukuda scoffed. "Easier for him to kill you in your sleep, maybe."

Gaara stiffened.

"Daddy, you know Gaara's not like that." Fumiko reached up to grasp her charm necklace. "You know he's nice."

"Fumiko..." Mai said tensely, having put her things down and was watching distrustfully.

"Nice? How can anything with a demon sealed inside them be nice? It's not natural, Fumiko, and I won't have it. You can't just move in with something like... like that!" Fukuda flung his arm in Gaara's direction.

Fumiko's expression tightened. "He's not a thing."

"I told you before and I'll tell you again. You are not moving."

"I am moving!"

A flicker of movement; Gaara and Mai both flinched forward as if to react but it was too late. A sharp noise shot through the quiet, and Fumiko stumbled back, trying not to trip and fall. Fukuda loomed, opening his mouth to spew something vile.

Gaara gritted his teeth. Without warning or hesitation, when Fukuda tried to step forward again, Gaara moved, too quickly for Fukuda's civilian eyes until suddenly he found himself slamming backwards into a wall that cracked slightly under the pressure. He tightened his fingers on Mr. Mistuwa's shirt.

"What the-!"

"Because I love Fumiko and you are one of her precious people-" Gaara could feel angry heat rushing to his face at the prospect of it- "I won't kill you, Fukuda."

Fukuda lunged forward, trying to break away. Gaara loosened one of his hands from his shirt, and faster than light, Gaara slammed his forearm into his throat, knocking him back into the wall and effectively pinning him. Fukuda gasped, more from shock than actual lack of oxygen- if Gaara had really been trying or used any of the force that was common in just his spars, he would have crushed his neck.

Gaara was aware that Fumiko was pulling on his shoulder, but didn't let go. This had gone on for too long- the yelling, the disappointment, the discouragement from who she wanted to be. Making his best friend timid. Hitting her had just been the last straw. Gaara was ending this- now.

"Damn you," Fukuda hissed, but he quailed when Gaara spoke again, voice cold and hard like steel.

"I understand that you don't like me," Gaara said in his low growl. "And I understand that you don't want her to move in with me. But if you touch Fumiko again, I swear to Kami, I'll kill you anyway."

For a second they just glared at each other, Fukuda clawing at his arm to no effect- the sand sheathed around Gaara's skin from his gourd.

"Gaara, please, Gaara, stop," Fumiko was crying softly, still pulling on his shoulder unsuccessfully. Finally Gaara let himself be pulled away, lured by the sudden and unexpected tears. Fukuda slumped, coughing and rubbing at his neck and cursing slightly. Mrs. Mitsuwa bumbled to him.

Fumiko latched her arms around his waist, still crying, and buried her face in his shirt. Gaara touched her hair uncertainly. "I'm sorry."

Fumiko mumbled something into his shirt, something that sounded kind of like it's okay, but he wasn't sure.

Mai looked absolutely vexed. "Dad, you asshole," she seethed. "Kami, maybe I should move out too! You're terrible! Jerk!"

Fumiko pulled out of his arms, still sniffling quietly, and tried to go to her father, but Fukuda just shot her a baleful look. Fumiko reached her hands out, but her father just looked away. "Fine then!" His voice was a little ragged- perhaps Gaara had used more force than he meant to. "Move out! See if I care!"

Fumiko flinched, pulling away. Then, eyes down and hands gripping her elbows, she fled the room like a kicked puppy.

Gaara snarled at him once, then followed after her.

...

She was heading in the direction of the Tower, probably to request that D-rank, when Gaara stepped out of the house. He fell in step with her silently.

After a few minutes of walking, eyes still glued to the ground, she spoke up. Her tone was tear-stained, although she had stopped crying. "Why can't he ever be happy for me?"

"I don't know."

Quiet again.

"I think he hates me."

Gaara shook his head. "No; it's me he's angry at."

"But why?"

Gaara clenched his jaw slightly, unsure what to say. "I don't know. Shukaku I suppose."

Fumiko finally looked up at him, wiping at her eyes. "Thank you for... protecting me," she said quietly. "I knew someday that was going to happen. I just wish it hadn't been today."

...

The day passed quietly after that. Fumiko requested her D-rank, and was told that a Genin team would be by shortly to take care of that.

She wasn't sure exactly what to think. She had known that one day or another, Gaara was finally going to snap, and had guessed sooner rather than later, considering his increasingly bitter attitude towards her father. It hadn't been nearly as bad as she had thought, but still...

Her father's words hurt.

"Fine then! Move out! See if I care!"

Fumiko was lying on her stomach in the middle of her empty new room, waiting for the genin team and sketching absently into a notebook. Gaara was there, too, fiddling with his sand, making little shapes with it. Fumiko figured he could have just gone back to work, but was staying to make sure she wasn't upset.

She penciled in the little raccoon doodle she was drawing, shading it's eyes. "Hey, Gaara," she said.

"What?"

"Blue, or brown?"

"... What?"

"For my raccoon's eyes. Blue, or brown?"

"Can raccoons even have blue eyes?"

"Blue eyes it is," she said resolutely. Blue was her favorite color anyway- blue like deep summer skies framed by clouds.

Someone knocked at the door. "Hey!"

Gaara was standing already, so he opened the door. Mai was standing there, arms crossed, not quite scowling, but she still looked angry. "Oh, hi, Mai," Fumiko greeted.

"You forgot this," Mai said bluntly, holding out her hand to Gaara. Fumiko inched forward slightly to see what it was.

The bear.

That little animal had been around for most of their childhood before going missing. She recalled all sorts of good things now- the taste of burnt popcorn and sand between her toes, playing board games and sleeping next to Gaara while he rested. The fact that it had fallen behind her bed seemed kind of silly, considering how hard they'd looked for it as kids, but she supposed kids didn't have the greatest common sense.

"Thank you," Gaara said, taking it from her.

"No problem." She slanted her eyes to Fumiko. "By the way, the Genin team should be here soon. I saw them before I left helping mom to take the repellant tags off." Mai smirked. "They're kinda midget, though, so it might take a few trips."

Gaara said, "You're one to talk, Mai."

And Fumiko laughed.

...

Mai was right. It had taken quite a few trips, back and forth and back and forth. She helped, though, as did Gaara. She didn't know these particular kids, but she knew their Jonin sensei, kinda, and struck up a conversation about raccoons.

"That's the last thing," a boy said as he pushed the last drawer into her dresser. "We're done."

Fumiko beamed at the three fresh Genin, two boys and one girl that had graduated before the Sand Siblings became temporary sensei at the Academy. They blinked up at her. Their Jonin sensei, Yutaka, half smiled at them. "Sweet! Do you guys want cookies before you leave?"

They blinked at her once, processing the offer.

And then all three of them broke into toothy grins. "Yes please!"

Fumiko had a lot of boxes to unload, but she could do that later. She didn't have to go back to work until Tuesday. A quick trip to the kitchen for some cookies she'd made a few days ago wouldn't hurt.

...

The rumors were true- there were a few texts in the Archive library from before Sunagakure had been founded. Fumiko was delighted.

Fumiko could pretty much go anywhere now. Not very many people didn't know who she was or who Gaara was- actually, everyone knew who Gaara was, they always had- and so had practically unrestricted access to everything that wasn't dangerous.

Including the Kage level of the library.

Gaara was somewhere else in the floor, probably reading through old records or something, numbers and statistics to compare with what they had now. Fumiko was wandering up and down the shelves, opening scrolls and books at random and reading through them. It was all super-secret classified stuff, which was cool.

Some things she couldn't reach- were all the Kazekages really tall or something?- but the ones she did look at were all old and yellow and pleasantly crinkly. Founding of Sunagakure, read the title of one book. Forbidden jutsus of the Sand, read another scroll.

Ooh, there were medical jutsu on that list.

When she was done with that aisle, she moved onto the next, and then the next, learning about the top criminals, Suna Black Ops, neat new seals she hadn't thought of, and summoning.

The summoning scrolls were really old and really tall, almost as tall as herself, but thin like there was barely anything written in it. There were three of them, and the labels read Weasel, Bat, and Spider.

Thinking it was going to teach her about the summons, Fumiko pulled out the bat one- bats were amazing- and rolled it out on the ground.

Imagine her surprise when she realized it was an actual summoning contract and not just a report on one. There weren't very many signatures- it only rolled out three spaces- two were occupied by signatures and the long dried, sort of faded bloody fingerprints of the signers. The third one was blank, and Fumiko realized the paper would extend if it was signed.

"Whoahh..." Fumiko breathed. "Hey Gaara! I found a summoning scroll!"

"Found a what?" came the muffled voice from who knows where. "A scroll?"

"A summoning scroll!" she called, grinning. "For Bats!"

"Summons?" This time his voice came from nearby. Fumiko looked up from her spot crouched on the floor to see Gaara poking his head around the shelf she had gotten the scroll from. "Huh. That must be how Temari got her Weasel summons."

"Ooh, Gaara, bats are really cute!"

"Bats are?"

"Well, yeah." Fumiko laughed. "They're fuzzy and have cute ears and little pink noses. And they're cool cause they can fly!" She stuck her arms out on both sides of her, flapping like a bird, still laughing. "I didn't know Suna had Summoning scrolls."

"I didn't either."

"... Can I sign it?" she asked hopefully.

"What?"

"Can I sign it?" she repeated.

"Er..." Gaara blinked at her. "Why not?"

...

"Okay." Fumiko said a few hours later, staring excitedly at the Bat contract and biting at her thumb. "Ow."

They were outside, in the semi-sorta-kinda backyard of the tower, which was basically the same as the front of the tower, surrounded by buildings on all sides and covered with sand dunes. Fumiko was knelt to the ground in front of the contract. Gaara was standing behind her, watching with some amusement as she prepared to sign. "Are you sure you want Bats?"

"Bats are cool."

"Okay. But make sure to use your dominant hand."

"Ambidextrous, remember?"

"Alright, then. The hand you would rather summon with."

Carefully- and having to bite her thumb two more times to keep blood flowing- Fumiko signed her name- Mitsuwa Fumiko- in kanji and stamped the freshly bleeding fingerprints of her left hand onto the space below. "Ow."

When she finished, the blood dried instantly, looking just like the other two signatures in age. Fumiko sucked at her fingers.

"That should be it. But it takes a lot of chakra to summon an animal, Fumiko. At least, that's what Temari told me."

Fumiko looked straight up, beaming, and met Gaara's eyes- he was looking straight down- and laughed. "I kinda want to try. But, I don't know the hand seals."

"Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, and Ram," Gaara said automatically, then frowned. "I don't know how I know that. I must have read it somewhere."

"Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, and Ram," Fumiko repeated, testing the seals out without using any chakra. When she could do it without her fingers fumbling over the seals, she nodded. "Okay."

Her fingers twisted together into the signs- at least her thumb was still bleeding so she didn't have to bite it again- and she hit the sand with it. Her first gate was closed, so she could control where a lot of her chakra went, funneling it into the blood seal that suddenly bloomed beneath her hand. There was a puff of purple chakra smoke, a smell like burnt toast, and then a hissing sound as it faded.

Fumiko burst out laughing at the little baby bat the size of her thumb.

It hissed at her again, a tiny, sputtering growl, and then with another puff it was gone.

Fumiko fell backwards onto her back, still laughing, but now a little drained. Gaara crouched by her head, smiling.

"That one looked dangerous," he deadpanned.

Fumiko snickered uncontrollably, and pretty soon, Gaara was laughing too.

...

Now that everything was settled in her room, Fumiko could finally start getting rid of the boxes. Her easels were reassembled, blank canvases and paints ib the corner by the window, her bed was there, and made, as was her dresser and Gaara's framed Academy graduation picture. Her clothes were in the closet and the dresser, and her trunk of board games rested at the foot of her bed.

There wasn't any sand in this room, but she would fix that soon enough.

Fumiko pushed the boxes on her bed onto the floor and crawled into it, flopping down on her back and stretching. She wore her sleeping clothes, thick blue fluffy PJ pants and a random long sleeved red top she'd bought somewhere a year ago. Gaara had finally gotten back to work after two or three days taken off to assist in the move, and so she was pretty much alone.

"I'll move the boxes tomorrow," she mumbled sleepily.

And then she closed her eyes and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I've know she would be a Bat summoner for a while now. First I just thought birds in general, but then I decided Fumiko was special and would summon Bats. Yes.
> 
> And her dad, blaah. He pisses me off, and I'm the one making him do it in the first place. That scene just randomly popped into my head during Chemistry.
> 
> By the way... I was pushing around through Gaara's profile page on Narutopedia, just showing Lily some things I thought were cool- like how Gaara's hair is drawn red in Masashi Kishimoto's final chapter even thought the red hair was initially a manga-to-anime accident (supposed to be brown)- and I realized something in the Trivia section.
> 
> Here it is, and I quote:
> 
> In an interview with Masashi Kishimoto, he said that Gaara's name was going to be "Kotarō Fūma" (小太郎風魔, Fūma Kotarō), but soon changed it to Gaara because of his editor. 
> 
> ... Doesn't that make his last name Fuma?
> 
> Fuma, with that particular kanji, means 'wind demon.'
> 
> We flipped out when we realized that.


	4. Winged Colors

Painting in her new room- no matter how large it was- was getting a little bit trickier.

Anyone who wanted to come in- including herself and Gaara mostly- had to trip and dance around miscellaneous stacks of finished paintings, easels of works-in-process, random bits and pieces of collage work or tedious sharpened pencils or blotches of not yet cleaned up spilled paint. It was pretty much a hazard zone, but there was nowhere else to put anything.

The walls were already space to space with paintings and drawings and sketches. The parts that weren't were painted on themselves- smiling faces and constellations on the ceiling, smatters of clouds and dandelions on the wall- sugar, even the edge of the floor had a complicated, detailed desert-themed rim art complete with swirling yellow cactai woven into snakes and flowers and in general, sand.

Which, speaking of the stuff, had very quickly dominated every inch of space not taken over by art supplies.

Fumiko's closet was almost full. She'd been working almost feverishly now- giving light to dreams and feelings she didn't understand. Drying on a canvas over there was a bright red cloud, like vaporized blood. Hanging on the wall to her right was a starburst of white and gold and red- like one of her fuuinjutsu gone wrong; an explosion, but of massive proportions. On the floors, purposeful smears and tactical whirling colors: red, black, yellow, a strange shade of lilac; blue-green like her healing.

It disturbed her, but then again, it was art. It wasn't supposed to make you feel good all the time, and her finished pieces turned out better than most, and that was enough to make her grin when she tripped over misplaced paintbrushes. Most of her paintings were the same as always, anyway. Colorful fishes and hazy chakra-smoke of battle, the shinobi man who always seemed to be waiting on the side of the street near her that she sometimes painted, careful star charts and the low-hanging moon; whatever caught her fancy or inspired her.

"Why are you suddenly painting so much?" Kankuro inquired, glancing around. "I mean, sheesh."

"I dunno." Fumiko shrugged. "I have... dreams. And also more money for supplies."

"But don't you work at the hospital?" Kankuro said critically. "Have you been pulling all-nighters again? I thought the doctors told you to sleep more. Prolonged sleep deprivation is bad for your health and sanity, you know," he teased, tapping his temple.

"I am a doctor." Fumiko laughed. "And what do you know, anyway, Kankuro? I've been doing it for years."

"You've also been passing out for almost five months. You don't think that's freaky?" Kankuro shook his head, sighing. "Man, when Gaara sent me to check up on you, I think maybe he should have warned me I'd fall flat on my face if I wasn't careful." He wiped at the drying paint on his cheek.

Fumiko smiled. "You wear purple face paint all the time anyway. And it is not freaky, it's-... um... it's interesting."

"Interesting." Kankuro repeated dryly.

"Interesting," Fumiko confirmed.

"Temari would absolutely have a heart attack if she saw how messy this place was."

"Wait a second. Aren't you the same way?"

"That is not the point of this conversation at all."

Fumiko just laughed again, turning back to her journal-sketch and rubbing her thumb lightly into the pencil to smudge around the shading she hadn't quite messed up on. There. Fixed. She was sitting on the only really clean place in the room- on her bed. "But, Kankuro, you're a Jonin now. Honestly, you should've seen that canvas."

"Who leaves canvas on the floor?" he protested.

Fumiko grinned. "Me."

Kankuro opened his mouth, raising a finger, but obviously couldn't come up with anything to say to that.

Kankuro, as well as Temari, had both taken and passed the recent Jonin exams- not telling her until after they had passed that they had even taken it. When she'd protested- loudly- they'd only said, we knew you'd make a huge deal about it.

Fumiko supposed they were right. She had made a big deal about it, with a sort of on the spot party.

Naturally, Temari had been the only one to protest the food.

Kankuro carefully made his way over, raising his feet to avoid more tripping trap-like, inconveniently placed things scattered about. You only stepped on a sharpened pencil once, after all.

Or tripped over canvas.

Or stepped in an empty can.

... Kankuro would get the hang of it soon.

He glanced at what she was working on. "What is that?" he questioned.

Fumiko tilted her head at the work. It was dark, full of shadings and spots of stars so she knew it was nighttime at the village. It was from the perspective of a roof, probably, a roof of the Sand village. No clouds, but there was a huge, clean, bright moon that dominated most of the night sky.

But there was... something there. A spot, a speck.

"I don't know. The sky?"

"How the heck do you not know?" Kankuro frowned. "You drew it!"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she said again.

"... It..." he said curiously, squinting to get a better look at the speck. "You know, it kind of looks like a bird."

...

"It's been three days since I even came out of that office," Gaara groaned as Fumiko fell into step with him in the hallway. Running into him on the way to the kitchen had just been a convenient accident. "I don't understand why now of all times everybody seems to want completely irrelevant things at the same time. Why did my father deal with all this?"

"Irrelevant?"

"Naming their kids. Moving. Name changes." Gaara's frown was one of disbelief. "Petitions on animal rights and age requirements for work and civilian payment when commissioned by shinobi."

"Pay questions I understand," Fumiko said. "But... why does the name of somebody's child have to go through the Kazekage?"

"I don't know." he snorted. His arms were full of unfinished paperwork. "Like I'm going to decline somebody's kid's name. But it takes forever to read through things- I can't just skip, because then sometimes it's actually important, like a noble's child, or a divorced couple squabbling over child rights."

"Well," Fumiko said cheerfully. "I hope they all know that pretty soon you're going to accidentally screw up names bcause you're so tired you can't even think straight."

"That was one time, Fumiko."

"And now it's illegal to wear hats on Sunday. Which is bad. Because, you know-"

"It's hot, I know." Gaara sighed, a mix of a groan and a frustrated howl. "I'm going to fix that."

Fumiko patted his shoulder. "Hey," she said gently. "I know it's hard. You're trying your best. But even you have limits, Gaara. Just because it's nearly impossible to sleep and you've been up most of your life doesn't mean you can fill every waking second with stress. We always played, or just relaxed or laughed together. Even if you don't sleep, you need to take breaks or something."

"Hn," he grunted. "I can't just take breaks."

"You're the sweeting Kazekage. You can take breaks whenever you want; you just don't want to dump your stuff all over your assistants."

"I can deal with it."

They approached his bedroom door, which looked less like the childhood sanctuary it had once been and more like the guest room of a frequent tornado.

Full of paper.

Gaara scratched at it with his fingers for a moment, shifting the load in his arms and looking strained and determined, somehow, to slide it open with an armful of paperwork. Fumiko smiled and opened it for him, after which he looked embarrassed.

"I probably should have asked you to do that."

"Probably," Fumiko agreed, and followed him inside.

Where their shelf had been- the one Fumiko had painted red and held all of their board games and some of Gaara's fiction books and Fumiko's medical texts, a few pictures of theirs, one or two old pieces of candy that just so happened to be fossilized- was a brand new desk, stuffed with papers and pencils and brushes and inks. His old clothes were draped about near his closet but not quite in it, because that was filled with battle-clothes and kazekage uniforms.

Sand had been swept to one side of the room to make more space for things. It looked like an office now- the TV was gone, as were the extra blankets and pillows they'd made so many forts with, banished to some closet somewhere, or Fumiko's room (for the ones she'd managed to snag from the box.)

Gaara dropped his papers on the desk.

Fumiko immediately set about organizing things again. Working in a hospital, she'd naturally done quite a bit of pushing paper, so she knew a thing or two about how to stack it. Gaara had a terrible habit of leaving things mixed up everywhere and forgetting what was what and taken care of and given back to appropriate persons or if it was still on his bed.

It took, apparently, about two days for everything to look like a tornado again. In both his bedroom and his office.

Fumiko brushed through the papers, skimming over them and slipping them deftly into piles- signed, unsigned, by order of mission rank, date turned in, petitions over there, miscellaneous there- she would sub-categorize those later; Gaara hadn't been kidding about irrelevant.

"You don't have to keep doing that," Gaara said quietly from behind her.

Fumiko smiled again, but her back was to him, so Gaara didn't see. "Ne, it's fine, Gaara. I'm practically your second-in-command."

"Yes, but..."

"Ah hah! You agree." Fumiko grinned. "Therefore, as your second, it's my job to keep you from losing-" she reached down to pick up the paper that had probably long since been trapped under the wheel of his chair and glanced at it. Then straightened. "... important... stuff... Um, Gaara, this is another politic-y negotiation from Land of Wind's Daimyo."

"What?!"

...

"She just has absolutely no space left," Kankuro said, arching an eyebrow. "It's a minefield in there. Everything that isn't covered in sand and paint is scattered with sharp things and canvas and sketchbooks. There's even Fuuinjutsu bits and medicines she works on..."

"I'm aware," Gaara said. "I've been in her room before."

"When? Two weeks ago? I was just there a few days ago when you asked me to. It's nuts."

Gaara leaned back in his chair, glancing at the stack of paperwork his assistant had just brought in. He tried, he really did, to keep Fumiko's organization, well, organized, but paper after paper after paper always mussed it up, and although he managed efficiently it wasn't nearly so quickly as when he could actually easily find things...

"Hm," Gaara said, frowning. What Kankuro described sounded almost dangerous, and Gaara, having been Fumiko's friend for seven years now, knew for certain that nothing he said would really make her stop. That was just how she was.

"Hey, I was talking to Mai the other day."

"Little Mai?"

Kankuro instinctively winced. "Please stop saying that. She always hits me for some reason. But yeah, Mai. She was trying to figure out something to do for Fumiko's birthday. Yours just passed, and that was fun and everything, but she wants to do something cool."

"Cool."

"Anyway," Kankuro plowed on, "She was telling me something interesting. About what Fumiko wants to do when she grows up."

...

Gaara was acting... well, odd, to say the least. As well as everyone else.

He spent more time than usual in that Kazekage tower- which was saying a lot, since he barely ever had the chance to leave it. But now it was weird, almost like he was doing it on purpose.

They never accidentally crossed paths anymore, whether it was in the Tower or the hospital or just the streets. She hadn't realized until now just how much they actually saw each other every day until she couldn't find him.

As for everyone else… it was like they were trying to ambush her every five seconds she wasn't working.

Fumiko sighed, smiling and leaning back, wiping her forehead. The green glow faded from her fingers as the shinobi in front of her tested his arm, surprised. He flexed his fingers and stretched.

"I just keep on seeing you, ne, Yoshihisa? And you keep getting stabbed."

"Hey, hey," he protested good-naturedly. "It's not my fault I got attacked, you know."

"It's a good thing it didn't hit bone," Fumiko said, taking hold of his bicep mid-stretch and studying it carefully. Nothing but a thin white scar remained from what had been just a few hours previous a sword sticking in one end and out the other, bleeding all over the place. "This way it was just a flesh wound. I'm not so good with healing bones, just setting them, and you would've been stuck with a sling."

"I thought you couldn't use your chakra."

"I didn't." she released him, still grinning happily. "I do now. I figured out what was up with my gates. They were all crazy, opened and stuff. Do you want it?"

Yoshihisa blinked. "Want what?"

"Want the sword. Not many ninja use them- you've gotta have a collection by now."

He laughed. "I guess you're right. Sure, why not? I can brag to the boys back home. I'm getting pretty notorious for surviving ambushes."

Fumiko laughed as well. "It's being cleaned. Here, this might help any discomfort later," Fumiko said, snagging a bottle of medication from the tray Ame had brought in and handing it to him. The girl had become a top-rate healer, having learned both medical ninjutsu and Fumiko's 'civilian healing'. She was almost running the place herself, now.

"Cool. Thanks."

"So what brings you to Suna?" Fumiko asked, picking up the blood-filled foam pads, hastily applied and unwrapped bandages, and various cleansing plant extracts. Some of the redness seeped onto her wrist as she went to throw it away.

"Ah, this and that. I had a mission to Ishigakure. I made it to juust about past the hidden rain village."

"Before getting stabbed," Fumiko supplied.

Yoshihisa barked out a laugh. "Yeah, sweetheart. That."

Fumiko dumped the bloody mess into the waste bin. Her hands were splashed with red. "Man, I wish Gaara was off," she said wistfully. "It's been ages since we talked, Yoshihisa."

"Gaara?" Yoshihisa aha'd, snapping his fingers. "Your friend! Yeah, where is he, anyway?"

Fumiko grinned at him as she ran the tap. "He's the Kazekage now."

Pink swirled into the drain. Yoshihisa startled badly, dropping the pill bottle he had been examining onto the bed. "He what now?"

"Fumiko-sensei," Ame chirped, popping her head in from the hallway. "Shift change. You're done for today."

"'Kay." Fumiko beamed, turning off the tap and whirling around, hands now clean of blood. Ame smiled back at her, nodding respectfully. Fumiko supposed she was sort of Ame's sensei, given that she had taught her practically everything she knew. "Thanks, Ame. Are you taking over?"

"Hai, sensei." A male medic-nin wrapped in white rushed from the other side of the hallway. He whispered into Ame's ear, and she nodded briskly. "Understood." She turned her eyes to Fumiko as the medic scurried off. "I have to go now."

Before Fumiko could get another word in, she was gone.

"Do you need any- help..." Fumiko laughed as her eyes caught up with reality. She still wasn't used to ninja phasing in and out of eyesight. Then she turned around to face Yoshihisa, grinning and clapping her hands together. "Hey, I know! I can show you around Suna! Then we can go talk to-"

"Hey, Fumiko, you're shift's over, right?" Mai said from the doorway. Fumiko jumped. The hospital was filled with so many chakra signatures she hadn't been able to pick her sister's out.

"Um, yeah, but-"

"We were wondering if you wanted to come- uh-" Kankuro flopped, coming in behind Mai. "Uh..."

"If you wanted to come to the aviary," Mai finished, shooting Kankuro a glare. "I heard Asuka came back."

"Wait, aren't you supposed to be at the Academy?" Fumiko asked curiously, tilting her head. "You aren't skipping again?"

"Ha ha ha, of course not!" Mai said loudly. "My sensei gave us the day off. He was, er... feeling sick. Anyway I think he doesn't like me. He wields double Tanto too, and acts like I should hero worship."

"Ah, um. I would, but I wanted to show Yoshihisa around."

"Yo," Yoshihisa said from behind her, raising a hand in greeting. "She keeps healing my stab wounds."

"Huh," Mai said. "A friend from Konoha, huh? What are you doing all the way out here in the Land of Wind getting stabbed?"

"Had a mission in the Land of Rivers and got intercepted."

"Eh, he can come too," Kankuro said lazily, waving a hand. "Maybe send a message to his village or something. Did you have any teammates with you when you were attacked? Or are they KIA?"

"He's a courier-nin." Fumiko said. "Works alone. We've sent out a retrieval team to figure out where his stuff went, and then he can continue his mission. Oh, and his sword."

"Sword?" Mai questioned.

Yoshihisa barked a laugh. "The one that was hanging out of my arm."

Mai nodded approvingly. Her own Tanto blades were strapped to either one of her hips. Fumiko was planning to go to the smith to order new ones as a surprise present for when Mai graduated- Mai probably hadn't realized it yet, but she would have to give up her Academy-issued set. She would be furious, Fumiko knew. The thought made a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

"Ballsy. I like you."

...

Buying a foreclosed property when you were the Kazekage was easy. It was more or less the property of Suna itself, of which he was the leader, so all he really had to do was put some ryo in the main treasury and sign a plethora of paperwork.

Getting it was easy.

But it was foreclosed. And had been for a while. It was dusty, dirty, a little broken down inside from water and sandstorm damage, and it smelled a little funny. So of course it needed to be cleaned and fixed back up, which of course required a D-rank, which, of course, took way too long. More than a day, which wasn't so great.

Mai, Kankuro, and Temari had taken it upon themselves to keep Fumiko distracted, because Gaara was an absolutely terrible liar, especially when it came to Fumiko. He couldn't even not-mention something. It would only take one smile, two seconds of chattering, and Gaara would start to stutter like a dying fish trying to cover up nothing.

"No." Gaara said shortly. Fumiko stared at him, eyes narrow with tears and mouth pressed thin as she tried to hide it. It only made him feel worse. "No, that won't ever happen again. You won't ever have to catch me lying again. Don't worry about that."

Old habits died hard. And this one in particular, Gaara thought as pain laced through him at the memory, still fresh after all this time, probably never will.

...

"And this is Asuka." Fumiko hefted her arm. Asuka was getting heavier and heavier, growing quickly. The bird preened slightly at the attention. "She's my go-to for quick messages. Plus she's considered Nin-tori."

"A ninja bird?" Yoshihisa said, intrigued.

"I trained her up," Fumiko said almost proudly, reaching down and unzipping her pouch with one hand to get at the sugar inside. She raised a small amount of it up to Asuka, who pecked at it delicately. It turned out that her little bird-friend had a sweet tooth. "Now she's the best infiltraition assistance Suna has. Nobody suspects the birds."

"You still have that stuff?" Yoshihisa's belly laugh was infectious. "Some things never change, eh?"

...

"Are you almost done yet?" Mai huffed. "This sucks. I keep getting detentions for skipping."

"Which you don't go to anyway, considering that the sun's about to go down and your sensei told me earlier that you wouldn't be back until nightfall." Gaara retorted. "Be glad I don't just rat you out."

"Nah. You'll tell him I got sick." Mai shrugged. "You're awesome and I'll be the first to admit that. But."

Gaara sighed. "They'll be done by morning."

"By the way, Fumiko made a friend."

"Oh?"

"Guy named Yoshihisa," Mai said, raising a hand above her head. "'Bout this tall. Purplish black hair, brown eyes, kinda... well-built. Talks about as fast as Naruto with the same amount of energy, but he can't be any younger than like forty."

"Ah," Gaara said, recognition lighting like a candle in the back of his mind.

Yoshihisa greeted him warmly and didn't seem offended in the slightest when Gaara ignored him.

"I've heard so much about you. All good things, all good things."

"Gaara, this is Yoshihisa. You actually just caught him- aren't you being released today?"

He smiled. "Sweetheart, I'm going back to work today."

"Good for you. Watch out for swords this time, though," she joked, swabbing at the stitches on his abdomen with rubbing alcohol. "Hey Gaara, can you hand me those scissors?"

"He's a courier-nin from Konoha if I remember correctly," Gaara mused, absentmindedly shuffling papers about on his desk. "I don't remember what happened to him, but Fumiko cared for him for a while at their hospital there."

"Let me guess. Stab wound?"

"I- perhaps." Gaara blinked. "Why?"

Mai laughed. "'Cause he got stabbed again."

...

"Gaara?" Fumiko asked almost in wonder. Here he was, walking down the hallway, accidentally crossing paths with her for the first time in three days. Actually, this was the first time she'd seen him at all during those three days. Yoshihisa pulled to a stop beside her.

They were headed up to mission desk to grab Yoshihisa's things- the package he'd been trying to deliver had been found intact. Just a bundle of mail and a few books. He must have been mistaken by bandits who thought he was carrying something valuable. Luckily, Yoshihisa knew how to fight. He would be leaving the next morning if everything was well and good with what the tracking team had found.

"Hello."

"Ooh, it is you!" Fumiko yelped, half-hugging his shoulders. It was harder to do than it used to be- he had grown, and she... had not. "Sugar, I haven't seen you in forever! Were you hiding or something?" she teased.

Gaara flushed slightly. "Um, well I... I, uh-"

Fumiko blinked. "Wait, really?"

Yoshihisa took that as his cue to cut in. "Hey, Gaara-sama," he said, not quite carefully but respectfully. "Sheesh, look at you. The last time I saw you you were pretty tiny. And kinda mean, no offense."

Gaara blinked, still in Fumiko's vice grip. "None taken."

"Wait," Fumiko said again. "What's up, Gaara?"

"Do you want to..." he said uncertainly. "Have a stayover tonight?"

Okay, so he was hiding something. But it wasn't a bad-something, given his uncomfortable-but-not-panicked look. It was probably a surprise-something. Surprise-somethings Fumiko liked very much. She beamed. Either way, stayovers were few and far between now, and Fumiko jumped at every opportunity to have one. "Yep! Let me pack a-"

"No," Gaara said quickly. "Eh, I already got your things."

Yoshihisa blinked. "Man, you went in her room and packed stuff before she even said yes? Uh, no offense again, but that's kinda weird."

Was it in her room? Now Fumiko was really curious.

What she didn't know was that Gaara had already arranged for most of her paintings and art supplies to be moved into the new building. The genin on the job had been ordered not to clean any stains of paint on the walls and floor- because some of those she had done on purpose and it was impossible to tell which ones those were. Actually, the room looked empty without the sheer amount of stuff everywhere.

...

Every ten or twelve seconds Gaara more or less freaked out, trying not to spill whatever it was he wasn't supposed to spill.

It was still a fun stayover though.

She made popcorn and he dug out the old blankets and pillows for the occasion. They didn't watch any movies- because setting up the TV again for just one night was way more trouble than it was worth- but they did other things, like make shadows on the wall and play board games and point out new constellations like they were cloud-watching before a Sootywing butterfly fluttered in through the open window and they had to spend two hours trying to coax it back outside.

Fumiko drew it- they were getting rarer and rarer and she would have to report it in the morning.

An unknown bird fluttered inside; Fumiko was ecstatic for another hour after that when she realized it was Neji and that he was telling her he had made Jounin. The two of them wrote a letter back and sent the bird away.

Fumiko, against her nature, thought about what she said before she said it, in order to prevent accidentally triggering his I-don't-want-to-lie reflex, carefully avoiding talk of her room, work at the hospital, and for some reason, art. It was sweet, just how deeply that automatic reflex had set into him. But it made it hard sometimes when he wanted to surprise her.

"Hey, Gaara?"

Gaara glanced at her upside-down. She was lying on the floor, limb-less leg resting on a pile of blankets (her prosthetic was buried here... somewhere) and he was on the bed, head hanging off the side, something she hadn't seen him do in ages. His cheeks were flushed slightly with blood.

"Aa?"

"I have a question."

Gaara smiled. "Yeah, I figured that."

Fumiko snickered for a moment,, then sobered slightly. "But seriously."

Gaara blinked. "What is it?"

"Does Shukaku still bother you?"

Gaara considered, closing his eyes briefly. "It depends on how you look at it, I suppose. He still yells all the time," he said, bringing a hand off the bed to tap his temple. "And still gives me nightmares. However... I've learned to ignore him. Much like you ignored the villagers."

"That's awesome." Fumiko paused. "So wait, does that mean that I coulda controlled him if he'd been sealed in me?"

...

"Where are we going?"

"Um- ah- a place," Gaara answered.

Fumiko stumbled slightly. Gaara knew that letting him cover her eyes with her disability meant she had complete trust in him- if he hadn't already known that. Blinding a person that fell on their own merit on a regular basis seemed stupid, except that he could manipulate the sand under her feet to help.

A building Fumiko had long since admired- almost the halfway point between their two houses. Well, technically, the one wasn't Fumiko's house anymore. It was unusual, unfinished in the way that while it was just as large as any other building in Suna- tall, shaped like an hourglass with a rounded top- it didn't have more than one floor, so that the ceiling towered above the floor.

It still had all the windows it would have had with separate floors, curiously enough. During the day, the building filled up with light like some sort of strange Genjutsu, bouncing off themselves until it was like standing in a diamond. If Gaara was right- he hadn't seen the results yet- then today it would be like stepping into a kaleidoscope.

They got some strange looks along the way, what with Gaara in his battle-clothes, leading a blind crippled girl through the busy streets, but at once when they recognized him a path was cleared. Years ago, the looks would have bothered him; hateful or not, he had been self-conscious. But now, he understood what Fumiko had been trying to tell him all those years before: who cares?

When they finally reached the bottom of the steps, Gaara stopped. Fumiko touched his hands over her eyes with her fingers.

"Huh? What? Are we there?"

"Yes."

"Can I look now?"

"I have to ask you something first."

"Okay."

"What did you always want to do when you grew up?"

"I- uhm... be a professional artist. You?"

"I didn't really have a goal back then," Gaara said as he removed his hands.

Fumiko blinked for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. Her cloak fluttered in the hot breeze. "Hey, why's the foreclosure sign gone-?"

Her eyes widened when she saw the sign. Sunagakure Studio, it read in dark blue lettering, something that would fit for a long time, considering that this was the only professional art studio in Suna.

"No way," she said, looking straight up at his face, back still to his chest.

"Happy birthday."

Her face split into a giant grin. "My birthday isn't for another three weeks, Gaara."

"Happy early birthday."

Fumiko practically vibrated for a second before she completely lost it.

She tore up the steps, shrieking with joy the whole way up, and flung open the door, vanishing inside.

Gaara smiled to himself before following- much more slowly. He had to remember to thank Mai again for the idea, and Kankuro and Temari for helping him shut up. The door swung open gently, blown by the wind, clack, clack, clacking against it's hinges. Gaara pulled it closed behind him.

It was still early. The sun rose quickly in Sunagakure, so the light was extraordinary.

Fumiko was staring up from the center of the huge room, the size of two or three apartments at the least, watching the refracting colors bouncing and mixing midair against her paintings and each other. Her pencilwork dotted the lowest rom of hung works, paintings above that. Even plain sunlight shone down from the higher windows; turning the floors burnished gold.

Most of the crowding works from her room were here, hanging on the walls with no particular order. They had emptied the closet and under the bed and the trunks and the stacks on the floor. Only the bottom half of them were filled, and filled they were, ladders still pushed into the corners where the genin had left them. Easels littered across the floor.

One counter stretched out from the door's immediate left to a quarter of the way in, almost like a bar with stools placed along it and a money box probably nailed to the stone. There were two doors; one to Gaara's right and one in the far back, both for storage, which was where her miscellaneous supplies would be.

If Gaara knew Mai at all, she had been directing this.

"These are mine," she said, voice low with surprise. "All of these..."

"From your room," Gaara said behind from behind her. His voice echoed in the still mostly empty-building.

Her smile was absolutely melting. "Thank you, Gaara," she said quietly, staring at the colorful lights dancing through the air, reaching out with one hand as if to touch it. "Love you."

"You too."

...

"Retiring?"

"Uh-huh."

"Fumiko, you're not even fifteen yet! How can you possibly retire?"

"Well, don't call it retiring then. Call it..." Fumiko thought for a minute. "Leaving-on-call."

"That's not even a thing!" Her boss, head of Suna's hospital protested.

"It's all I could think of," Fumiko confessed. "I'm going to full-time paint now. But anytime you can call me back or send a shinobi to shunshin me here if you really need me. But there really isn't any fighting going on, so there's nothing serious for me to deal with, like there was during the Crisis."

"But you're an irreplaceable asset," Tsuko argued, leaning forward. "Your ability to seal wounds without chakra makes you capable of pulling complete day shifts, unlike our med-nin shinobi corps. You ran this hospital with glue and twigs."

"About that," Fumiko said. "I recommend Ame to take my place."

"Ame?"

"Out of her and Tsuki, Ame was particularly good with civilian healing. Her knowledge of plant extracts, poisons, and fuuinjutsu surpasses mine, and her chakra control is precise enough to hold chakra scalpels for long. She's a me two-point-oh. Much better."

"But... to paint..."

"Look, I wouldn't leave Ame in my place if I didn't think she could do it." Fumiko bounced on the balls of her foot, absentmindedly of course, but still instinctively aware of her balance.

"Have you told her this yet?" Tsuko looked flustered.

"Well... no. I wanted to surprise her."

...

Sunagakure Studio's first official opening went much better than it should have.

Fumiko was pretty sure either Temari or Mai had fixed that. Shinobi and civilian alike roamed through her- her- shop, admiring the floating colors and intricate paintings, chatting with each other on the chairs she had scattered around, eating or drinking various sweets and punch she had put out.

Within the first day she sold three paintings and got four commissions for others. She conversed happily with those who lingered on the stools from behind the counter. A lot of them asked about Gaara, some about the hospital, one or two curious little questions about her prosthetic. A few just wanted to know her almond brownie recipe or where she got inspiration for this or that piece of artwork.

Gaara had been there for the first two or three hours, before Baki had appeared, given his congratulations, and whisked Gaara away for some important meeting or another. Mai wasn't there- finally her sensei had sent someone out to drag her grumbling and cursing to the Academy. Temari and Kankuro filtered about through the crowd somewhere, as did her mother and Yoshiki.

It was sort of an art show, she supposed.

It was nice, waking up early, making breakfast, and heading to her studio to paint for a few hours before the grand opening. She didn't have to deal with medications or grumpy patients or bloody stitches or schedules, schedules, schedules.

Here, she could paint, and get paid for it.

The place itself was a work of art. The many windows allowed her to hang work up like posters without ruining the transfixing prism-diamond effect of the sunlight. At night, she found, the moonlight was soft enough to work the opposite way, shadowing everything like a Nara's jutsu, cutting her images sharply enough that they seemed almost contrasted.

Fumiko stared wordlessly at the door for a second, mouth trailing open as she cut herself off from a conversation with the man across the counter from where she stood behind the register, sitting on a stool.

Was that... an advisor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now finally my brain comes first circle! Originally Fumiko was never supposed to be a medic-nin. She sorta spiraled out of my control for a while, but now she's where I originally intended for her to be: in an art studio.


	5. Tears of the Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People cry, not because they’re weak. It’s because they’ve been strong for too long." -Anon

People liked to watch her while she painted, usually without speaking. That was fine with her, given that that's what Gaara had always done, just watched and listened as she hummed or sang, swirling colors on her canvas.

It was part of the reason her studio was so popular. Fumiko had realized that people would come and wait all day without buying anything, browsing, waiting just to see if she would get a streak of inspiration and pad over from her counter to the store rooms, then to one of the easels with her paints or pencils. Then they would crowd whichever wall she had her back to, watching with wide-eyed... something.

Today, she painted a lake. Wide, brimming with clear blue water; a small waterfall tumbling into a river, surrounded by trees morphing into autumn but still green, with soft sunlight and blurred colors. One of her more detailed works- she'd been working on it every day for the past week. It was painted one one of her larger canvases.

The usual crowd had watched her start it, then, as she progressed, day by day more had shown up. It must have been interesting to them, this, the painting, the colors; intriguing, since there was usually none of that in Suna. Fumiko smiled, bent slightly at the waist, gently running one of her detail brushes spotted with white down the waterfall, weaving foam.

When she finished that for the day, pulled as if by a string to a different painting, this one of an empty swing set halved by colors, they started to murmur. Fumiko wondered what it was about, why they whispered like that, but continued to work happily, every now and then palming a handful of sugar into her mouth. One little boy edged closer and she gave him some too.

Finally she was called to the desk- someone was trying to buy something. The others in the room all shot the poor man glares.

It was always interesting, selling paintings. Mai had made someone evaluate her skill once, they had told her what she was worth, and Mai had told her to never, never accept anything below that. But sometimes she did, depending on the person, with that price in mind she asked them what they thought it was worth.

People in Suna were, if nothing else, extremely and bluntly honest; and so she usually reached her target amount.

The little bell on the door rang constantly as people filtered in and out. It became a place to gather, people on their lunch breaks brought their sandwiches and sat on one of the chairs Fumiko had picked out and talk with other people, children hung out in one corner to talk and play, and of course, there was always the off chance that Fumiko would paint something, and then they watched.

Sometimes, as time wore on, Fumiko got foreign visitors. Some from different Lands, Iron and Waves and Earth, once or twice even Lighting. Her popularity was spreading, she was constantly getting more and more requests delivered by bird and courier-nin. Sometimes it was Yoshihisa, sometimes not.

It was odd somewhat, being popular after so many years of... not.

"Hey, Fumiko," someone said, sliding into the stool across from where she sat. Two more bodies followed suit, taking the seats on either side of the stranger.

Fumiko finished up her log, glancing up with a smile. "Hello!"

And then she paused. Ijiri Shunichi, Nagasawa Tadashi, and Nakanoi Naoki. The three top boys in Fumiko's civilian class, after herself, of course. Also, three of her biggest tormenters. Shunichi had been nice to her after the voting, but these other two she hadn't seen since they last shoved her into a sand dune.

Shunichi was one of those tall, dark, and handsomes girls her age and every other age crooned over, with longish black hair and jet blue eyes. He spoke with an arrogant lilt that dripped with confidence. Tadashi had been the more timid one, getting nervous when they went too far or really pissed Gaara off. He had mousy brown hair that curled at his ears, and dark eyes. Naoki had blondish-brown hair, stained by the sunlight, and a freckled face with dark green eyes.

They all looked rather nervous.

Fumiko glanced at the door for a moment. Sometimes Gaara wandered inside whenever he had a break during the day, sometimes still clothed in his Kazekage robes, to eat or talk. It was lunchtime now. If he wasn't here yet, he probably wouldn't come until later.

"Ne, hi, Shunichi, Tadashi, Naoki," she greeted them warmly, still smiling. "Can I help you?"

Tadashi and Naoki shared wide-eyed looks before staring at her again.

"Um..."

"Ah..."

Fumiko laughed. "I'm not that scary, am I?"

Shunichi remained quiet, fidgeting in his seat. He had apparently realized the danger as well; he snuck paranoid glances at the door every couple of seconds, but otherwise kept his eyes lowered. He had been the one to speak initially, but now he said nothing.

"Fumiko?" someone asked, Adashi, one of her regulars, eyeing the boys suspiciously. They had a reputation of messing with the jinchuuriki. "Everything okay?"

"Hai; everything's fine, Adashi," Fumiko laughed, straightening, putting her pencil aside. The man nodded once before dispersing back into the smattering of people. "Hey, guys, I got an idea for a drawing. Would you mind moving, if you wanted to talk to me?"

She wasn't sure exactly if that was what they wanted, but they followed as she foraged into her stores for charcoal. Leaving behind, blooming...

As she set up her things on one of the easels, propping up a small canvas. Instantly the murmuring began, a cloud of interested watchers wandering behind to watch. Her three former bullies looked extremely uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but stayed behind her as she picked up a charcoal and put a hand on her white canvas.

She bit her lip. "Hmm..."

"So, you probably really hate us," Naoki said finally. "But-"

"Why would I hate you?" Fumiko made the first line, the curve of a petal.

Tadashi laughed nervously. "You can stop now, we get it. We were huge jerks to you when we were kids, and we're really sorry about that."

Fumiko smiled, shading a shadow to build her flower off of. "Thank you. That means a lot. But I'm not-"

"We were just freaked out," Shunichi blurted. "By Gaara, and the fact that he kept coming over without killing anyone. It was just weird. So were you." He blanched. "I mean, wait, I didn't mean to say that-"

"I take that as a compliment," Fumiko said, laughing and trying not to let the shaking of her ribs disrupt her steady brush. With her other hand, she carefully rubbed the line to keep it from getting too stark. "I mean, everyone's weird, ne?"

They all three looked absolutely stricken, unsure what to say, shifting under the gaze of her watchers. Fumiko sighed without taking her eyes off her work. "Guys. I dunno if you think I'm playing mind games or something, but I'm not." Fumiko's hand slipped, she started and then frowned. "Gah. Sugar. I messed up."

A random deep black streak raced across the bottom edge of a petal. Maybe she could soften it out by making the rest of the picture darker, but still, it would lose the overall gentle look she had been aiming for, and she would have to adjust the size of the petal to make it look purposeful... Fumiko straightened, put her charcoal down, rubbed her face. It probably left a black streak on her cheek, but that didn't matter, her hands and wrists were already covered with it.

The murmuring turned to grumbling. Whos, whys, and who do they think they ares slipped into the air.

"You mean..." Tadashi said uncertainly. "You're really not mad?"

"Nope." Fumiko scratched her cheek, blinking. "Now do you know any way to-"

"What are you doing here?"

The icy tone made the three freeze. Fumiko looked up. "Hi, Gaara. You made it off for lunch today?"

People in the room, as they realized how absolutely seething their Kazekage was, and that Fumiko was done working for now, all decide as one general group to leave, scattering out the door. Fumiko smiled at him. Gaara crossed his arms coolly, not at all pleased.

"We were just-" Tadashi stammered.

"Apologizing-" Shunichi said.

"-leaving," Naoki squeaked.

"Gaara, don't be bitter," Fumiko said. "You're scaring them."

"That's more or less the point."

Fumiko laughed. "I thought you wanted to connect to everyone in the village. They count too, you know. Oh..." She blinked, looking around. The store was empty of civilians, now dominated by a few highly amused shinobi. "They left."

...

The next week she finally fixed her flower and finished her landscape. Almost the moment it was up, people squabbled about it all over the village.

Color was a strange concept here. Suna was built more for puppet masters and less for Genjutsu wielders. Everything was sliced into perfect sections, exactly efficient, suited for quality rather than quantity. Effectiveness versus lavishness.

Actually, it tended to surprise people that she was an artist. Fumiko tended to wear rather bland clothes- the cloak was only exotic outside of her village; here, everyone wore a cloak or cover of some kind- tan and white, standard Sunagakure colors.

Minus the paint usually splattered across her skin, but that wasn't important.

But now, everyone in Suna knew her name, her scrawling MF drawn like scattered sand that marked the corners of her art. For once, she was Mitsuwa Fumiko, not the Gaara's friend. It was strange but nice at the same time.

She knew, now, a lot of people in a lot of places. Almost a network of people in various countries. Many came to visit her little shop, to see for themselves the queer little girl covered in paint in a sandy wasteland.

But she certainly hadn't been expecting this.

"U-Uzumaki Naruto?"

"Yo," Uzumaki Naruto greeted. It was well past closing time now, she had just been locking up when she realized they were waiting by her door.

They being Uzumaki Naruto and Jiraiya the Toad Sage.

He'd gotten taller, and was wearing something different than before- muted orange by black, rather than just bright orange, and his hair was longer too, and his eyes rounder. His headband for some reason was black now instead of blue.

She dropped her keys and beamed.

"I haven't heard from you in over a year! What've you been doing? Did you know that Gaara-"

"Um, don't tell Gaara we're here." Uzumaki Naruto said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Fumiko pulled up short. "Pervy sage doesn't want anyone to know we're passing through here." He blinked up at the art on her studio walls. "Hey, nice place you got here."

"Thanks!" Fumiko opened the door wider so they could come inside. "But why can't Gaara-?"

"Because we aren't here to visit," Jiraiya said. Jiraiya the Sannin was tall, large, with poofy white hair and huge scrolls on his back and painful-looking wooden sandals that clacked oddly as he walked inside. "I was wondering if you could help us."

"Me?"

"Wow, this place is pretty big," Uzumaki Naruto commented. "Lotta stuff you got here."

"I was curious to know... if you knew anything about an organization of nuke-nin known as the Akatsuki. Gaara should know of it by now."

"... The Akatsuki?"

Fumiko was totally lost. The toad sage had wasted no time in getting right to the point. Where Uzumaki Naruto had plopped down into an overstuffed white chair, sighing loudly, Jiraiya stood stiffly with his arms crossed, watching her carefully. "Yes, The Akatsuki. I've been tracking them for a while. The trail got cold a while before the Land of Wind, but since we were close..."

"I'm sorry," Fumiko said apologetically. "But I don't know anything about them. Gaara doesn't really talk much about nuke-nin, and that kind of thing. Why?"

Jiraiya sighed. "I figured as much."

"As far as I know..." Fumiko thought back to every bingo book she'd flipped through in the library- the missing-nin of Sunagakure. "Uh, the only recent defection from Suna was someone named Sasori. He defected, maybe fifteen, twenty years ago?"

Jiraiya nodded. "Alright."

"Jiraiya, these Akatsuki, what's it about?"

"I'm not sure." Jiraiya thought for a moment. "Who's in charge of defenses here?"

"Suna here? Uh... Captain Yura, I think, but-"

"C'mon, Naruto," Jiraiya said, making to leave.

"Aww, but Pervy sage-"

"Wait, you're leaving? But you just got here!"

"Naruto!"

"Whatever. See you soon, Fumiko-chan! It was nice seeing you again!"

"But-"

And then she was alone, door swinging quietly in the wind.

...

People told her that clearing out the side storage room closest to the door and filling it with things like a wood stove, an ice fridge, a pantry, and various cooking supplies was stupid. She even shoved an old mattress in the corner.

But then again, she had the money- being the only artist made sure of that- and anyway, everyone always asked after the treats she sometimes brought to sell or just give away. It was so new, being able to afford giving things away.

"Thank you," a little boy said, grinning toothily before taking a huge bite of cookie. His mother was around in the store, looking at pictures and paintings as a gift for someone else. Her sister, if Fumiko recalled.

Fumiko smiled. "You're welcome!"

...

Her schedule, even though now it was voluntary, was skewed. If she wanted she could close up and leave whenever she wanted, which she sometimes did. But usually, she woke up at a decent time, feed whoever was around to be fed, hang out in Gaara's office for a while and help him out, go to the studio, then either stay there or go to the Tower for dinner and sleep. Oftentimes she went into Gaara's office again before going to bed to see if she could be of any more use.

It was getting to the point now where Fumiko could literally take over for a few hours when Gaara had urgent business to attend to. Surprise meetings or even planned ones took huge chunks out of his time that he usually made up with by staying all night, which could be completely bypassed if someone took over.

His assistants could help somewhat, but they were more accustomed to giving him the paperwork and making sure it got to where it needed to go afterwards than actually dealing with it.

Fumiko found that she knew, at least partially, how to run a village.

Temari said she had a knack for politics. Kankuro said she had a mulish, bullheaded confidence. Fumiko was pretty sure that it was more she didn't try to bite people's heads off when things didn't go her way.

It was funny, sometimes, when she was manning the desk, reading, signing or not signing, sorting, and filing; sometimes wearing Gaara's extra Kage hat just because she could, and somebody ran in, yelling Kazekage-sama, Kazekage-sama! And found it was just her. Usually she could help them though. It just made her laugh when they gaped at her.

The ANBU black ops shadowing in the corners and sticking to the ceiling were a little strange. They absolutely refused to talk to her, and the one time she had made one laugh, he- she?- had been replaced the very next day. They had painted masks, not like Konoha's animal masks, but still masks. Once, they really had stopped a crazy shinobi from Grass who thought she was the Kazekage.

Even though he had already been caught in her Genjutsu they took him down anyways.

Most of the time, though, they sat side by side, Gaara in his big official Kazekage chair and Fumiko in the little stool she dragged in. She organized, he worked, she learned, he worked better. They talked. Sometimes Fumiko cleaned.

The ANBU got used to it.

...

It wasn't very often, but sometimes, Gaara had to make sure Fumiko didn't sleep over at her studio.

Usually it was Kankuro who told him, since it was him that nagged Fumiko into making dinner and noticed when she was nowhere to be found.

He would sigh, smile, stand up, and pack up whatever work he still needed to get done that day to bring to his room later. Go to him room, change, drop off his work, leave the Tower. Walk through the streets at midnight to the studio.

And find her either on her mattress or slumped over her counter.

After which he would try to wake her up- which never worked- find her prosthetic wherever it had fallen, then pick her up and leave, lock the doors, walk through the streets back to the tower at one or two.

Gaara got no strange looks when he carried her home on a ten minute walk in the middle of the night, because usually at that time, there was nobody outside on the streets. Oh, once or twice the occasional lowlife got close enough to be dealt with- in the dark they never realized who he was until the last second- but aside from that the sandy streets were always empty.

Go back inside, use sand to open doors since now his arms were full, put her back in bed.

At that time he usually retired to his room, either to meditate or finish up his work. Fumiko had gotten over the whole 'not sleeping while he was awake' thing, because even she had to admit that she didn't have Shukaku's vitality to keep her going. Since then she had stopped passing out so much.

Gaara slid the door open to Fumiko's pseudo kitchen-slash-bedroom. Tonight was one of the rare nights she curled up for a nap that lasted way too long. Her alarm buzzed loudly by her ear, unheard. Gaara grunted and kneeled down to switch it off. The light was still on, so it wasn't hard to find the metal foot, which had rolled off the bed to the other side of the room.

It was easier than it used to be. Gaara had gotten taller (finally) and although she had grown a little, Fumiko wasn't all that much taller than she'd been all those years ago when the Chuunin Exams had taken place. Gaara had also (finally) grown out of his scrawny, sticky figure, while Fumiko still was rather... small.

It was no longer unnerving- the way she slept. Now when he picked her up, it was normal how she was completely limp like a dead body. Sometimes it barely even seemed like she was breathing, always twisted weirdly in sleep. He adjusted his hold so her head was on his shoulder rather than hanging over his arm.

On his way out, Gaara startled a stray grey tabby rummaging through the empty boxes Fumiko had put out by her door. It mewled at him, then ran away.

The shady figure that got a little too close managed to see his red hair by just enough moonlight and skittered away when Gaara scowled at him, shifting Fumiko to get a hand free should he need it.

The rest of the way was uneventful. Gaara managed to get her into bed and slip out of her dream-fueled grip. He ran into Temari on the way back, who was preparing to go to Konoha for the first time in her collaboration for the next Chuunin Exams. They talked briefly before going there own separate ways.

Gaara sat down at his desk with a sigh, turning on his desk lamp and peering at the sheath of papers before him.

...

"Hello, Fumiko-sama. What can I get you today?"

"Hmm," Fumiko hummed. "Can I have a half pound of ground beef?"

"Sure," she said, smiling. "What for?"

"Ne, I'm visiting my mom and little sister. I'm making dinner."

"That's nice, Fumiko-sama. How are things at your shop? I heard you had some problems there the other day."

"No, not at all." Fumiko said, scratching her temple as the woman turned to cut her order. "Some... old friends came to visit, that Gaara doesn't really like. The civilians sort of..." Fumiko laughed. "Escaped."

The lady behind the counter, Fumiko didn't know her name but she really was nice so this is where Fumiko always came for her meats, cut and wrapped the beef in wax paper before turning again to hand it to her, chuckling slightly. "Ah, I remember when the two of you were kids."

"Do you?"

"Yes, yes; always running around on your own together, browsing through the markets."

"Huh." Fumiko grinned as she took the wrapped packet. "I kinda always thought people ignored us."

A blush rose in the butcher lady's cheeks. "We did, but it was more like we were doing it on purpose than actually ignoring you."

"That only bothered Gaara." Fumiko said, curiously now. So all those times when they spoke or laughed or weaved through legs and nobody had so much as yelled at them, they had been purposely ignored? Weird. "Hah, but he's better with that now."

"Well, he is kazekage."

...

Gaara lasted longer than she thought he would, but finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he looked up from his work.

"Why are you setting up your canvas in my office?"

Fumiko grinned. "'Cause I got paid to."

A raised brow. "What?"

She laughed, setting out a few paints on the stool and picking one up to squirt it into her pallet. White, brown, red, blue... she mixed white and brown to make skin, it got too dark, she added more white. "Apparently it's a tradition to make a portrait of each Kazekage and hang it up in their office. I almost forgot about the fourth's, they shrouded it when he died."

"And you..."

"Hey, I am the only official artist in Suna." Fumiko wagged her paintbrush at him; he smiled slightly.

"What about the statue? You don't know how to sculpt rock, do you?"

"Not so far as I know." She touched the tip to canvas. "But I could probably try I guess."

The two of them were mostly silent for a while, with just the scratching of pencil on paper and the swish of testing paint on skin. Pale enough; sweep, sweep onto canvas, sweep red onto canvas for the scar, proportion eyes and then work around them, so blue, blue, blue...

Gaara didn't mind sitting with her watching him like that, just continued to work. Fumiko had painted him before, so she figured this couldn't be any different, even if she was a distraction from mind-numbing paperwork. A slacker, Gaara was not.

Fumiko smiled again, tracing the curve of the rim of his Kazekage hat so that she could start on his hairline, peeking red from beneath the shadows. She made four different shades of red on her pallet to imitate it.

Here and there conversation sprouted, but it seemed like one of the rare times where things were quiet and neither felt the need to talk, something Fumiko usually couldn't do without getting hyper. But painting channeled that out, now she was perfectly content to just watch and smile and concentrate and push her various brushes across canvas.

The eyes were the hardest. The shade of blue and the depth they held was easy, she had mastered that long ago, but the blackness surrounding them was hard to place and keep even with the colors without overshadowing them. Now she had to resort to oils, they were softer, easier to control. Gaara just continued working, pencil skritching across paper.

...

"Mom, Mai, I'm here!" Fumiko called as she opened the door, with her back, stew in both hands. She turned to sidestep it and let the door close behind her. "I brought food! Gaara'll be along soon, he got tied up at the Tower!"

The house was mostly dark, so Fumiko assumed her mother must've gotten nightshift again. Her father wasn't there for whatever reason, perhaps he'd been held back at work too... but at least Mai should have been there. She got off the Academy three hours ago.

"Mai!"

Silence.

Except for one thing: the slow, steady Thump- thump- wham! Thump- thump- wham! of her punching bag; left, right, knee, that was her sisters distress default. It was the only sound in the house, which was odd, considering that Mai had to have heard her calling.

Fumiko put her pot on the table before straightening and heading to the kitchen.

...

Thump- thump- wham! Thump- thump- wham! Thump- THUMP-

There was a crashing sound like water and a few not-so-muffled curses- Mai had probably pierced it again. As she got closer, Fumiko could hear Mai shuffling to put a new one up, chains clattering and the heavy whumph of a full-sized sand-filled punching bag being discarded to bleed out on the floor. Then it started again, thump- thump- wham! The sound didn't even flicker in intensity when she opened the door.

"Mai?"

Mai just gritted her teeth and kept going, ignoring her completely. Her eyes were red, face sweaty from exertion, the only signs of her distress, except for the vicious scowl on her face. She punched it, punched it, brought her knee up to hit it- wham!

"I brought you maple milk."

"Don't care." the answer was short.

"I promised to keep making it for you, remember?"

"Please get out."

"Mai, is something wrong?"

Mai's eyes flashed- Thump! Thump!- "Of course not." Wham!

"Why are you here alone?" Fumiko asked quietly. "Just you and your punching bag?"

"I saw mom an hour ago," Mai bit out. "She's still working."

What?

"Mai," Fumiko said with worry in her voice. "Why were you at the hospital?"

Mai's eyes widened, scowl deepening to the point of nearly visible tears. Mai reared back, probably not meaning to use chakra, slamming her fist forward with a guttural growl.

Thump- crash!

With a yelp, Mai was thrown forward as her fist went through the skin of the bag, momentum sticking her to it and throwing her forward. The bag came off it's hook; Mai tumbled, sand trailing as she finally settled on top of the bag, right arm still stuck in to the elbow.

"Mai-!"

"Shut up!" Mai stood, flung her arm behind her like she was shaking an arm off her shoulder. The bag flew backwards, crashing into her bed, spewing sand like blood, but Mai didn't seem to care, sighing, tone tinged with gruffness. She rolled her shoulder and opened the closet for another.

Fumiko carefully placed the mug of milk on a chair well enough away from the area of destruction. The room itself was littered with three other half-empty red leather shells, sand in drifts around them across the floor. It looked like a disaster zone in here, with things strewn randomly about, and one of her swords stuck fast to a wall nearly to the hilt.

Fumiko stepped up to it, wrapped her fingers around the leather grip, and yanked until it came free, stumbling and nearly falling when it did. Packed, cemented sand made to act like plaster trickled out of the hole. When she finally regained her footing- Thump- thump- wham! became the steady monotone again behind her- she held it in her hands, running her thumb along the flat of the blade.

A two foot long gleaming silver steel saber. Fumiko had no idea where it's twin was, but Mai kept them sharp and polished, deadly. For her to have thrown it straight into a wall...

She padded carefully back to the bag- Thump- thump- wham!- and said, "Mai."

"What?" she snarled.

Fumiko held the sword out. "Here."

Mai glanced at it, then paused; her hand missed, fist merely skimming the leather skin and bouncing off the side. "Where was it?"

Fumiko pointed. "In the wall."

"Dad's going to kill me for that."

Silence.

Mai's knuckles were red and raw and split when she took the weapon from her. "Hey, be careful," she said, "Don't hold the blade with your hand."

"Oh."

Ignoring her own advice, Mai suddenly clenched her fists; blood raced down her wrist and through her fingers as she squeezed the sharpened, lethal edge. Her eyes turned shiny. "I was at the hospital because I got hurt during training."

"So? You get hurt during training all the time," Fumiko said. "Was it really bad?"

"No, but my sensei made me go. Anyway, while I was there, they decided- the doctors, that is... to give me a basic checkup for kunoichi, since I haven't had a physical in a few months, and, well..." A dry smile tugged her lips into a dead almost-smirk. "I'm notorious for hurting myself."

"Okay..." Fumiko gently took her sister's hand. She was still squeezing the blade, almost absently now, and the flow of blood was worsening, splattering drops onto the floor and on her feet. Fumiko pried her fingers off it, took her sister's hand in hers, and closed her first gate, hand glowing green. Mai winced as the wound began to close, blood piddling over Fumiko's palm.

"And... hell if I know why... but one of the things they do is check for fertility. Something about abnormal pulsing of chakra disrupting... anyway." Mai cut herself off sharply, and now she was beginning to sniff, eyes shivering as she tried to keep tears from welling over. "Anyway..."

"Oh- oh." Fumiko gasped softly. Mai's shoulders slumped; her sword fell to her side, hilt whacking gently against her thigh. She held the hilt loosely in one hand. "Oh, Mai..."

Mai kept her eyes lowered, pulling her almost completely healed hand away. The green on Fumiko's fingers faded. "People don't think I'm like that."

Mai, despite all her brash intensity, her fearlessness, her raging temper, had this urge to protect things. It probably had come, somewhere along the line, from having no one to stick up for her when she was alone. It was why she fought so hard, why she trained so long, why she learned every pressure point in the human body and how best to throw kunai so that she hit the jugular perfectly.

It was so she could protect... herself, others. Mai hated being helpless.

Fumiko had never really wondered about it before, but thinking back on it... the fleeting looks at mothers with their children, of picking them up and leading them by the hand for Fumiko to heal their scraped knees, whining and griping at them the whole way for being stupid enough to fall, Mai trying her damndest to find lost kids because they're gonna get freaking kidnapped or something, then I'll have to listen to it's mom go on and on.

"You..."

"Yeah." Mai's voice was strained and she smiled darkly, trying to pull her lips into a smirk. "Yeah. I'm sterile."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Mai's smile flinched, teeth bared more than grinning. "I would make a horrible mother anyway."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody."

Fumiko smiled softly, reaching out, a not yet completed attempt to take her sister's hands. "You shouldn't smile if you're not happy."

Clang went Mai's Tanto blade against the floor. Whoosh went Mai's feet as she shunshined away.

Fumiko was left standing there, alone, arms stretched out as if to comfort somebody, surrounded by broken punching bags and piles of sand, with blood and the first of many tears like glitter on the floor beneath her.

...

Fumiko worked feverishly on her next drawing, done with charcoal and pencils and some oils, which looked terrible and beautiful at the same time.

A lot of black, black, red here, just a swipe with oils to create the effect of just that, just a simple swipe, not completely coloring it in but leaving spaces white, shaded with dark pencil. Brown here, smudge with white, almost clear, to make depth and water thinning out as it was banished.

They watched her paint like a devil, even more curious than normal, because now she wasn't humming or smiling but forceful and cautious and hard.

Gaara was there now. He looked at her work, then sucked a breath, confused. "Why are you making this?"

"Mai."

"I see that, but..." he gestured wordlessly for a moment. "... Why?"

A vicious slash of a scar across lips. "Mai, she... won't cry."

Gaara started. "Why would she cry?"

"Mm..." Her brows furrowed slightly, she rubbed hard with charcoal and darkened the shadows of the curls. "I don't know if she wants me to tell you or not."

"Is it Eishi again?"

Fumiko shook her head. "Nope."

"Training related?"

"Uh-uh."

He hesitated. "Should I..."

"No," Fumiko said quietly. She faltered slightly, then lifted her hand once more to spread seemingly random, thick, suntan-colored skin that was almost brown across cheeks. It was all over her now- she looked more tanned now, darker, almost like Mai. "Let me help her."

Red, red, a thin calligraphy brush for the red.

...

Fumiko knocked softly on the door, a feathery sound that only a shinobi would hear.

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"..." Fumiko stood there wordlessly for a moment, clutching her finished artwork to her chest, blinking at the closed door, waiting. And waiting. She shifted from foot to prosthetic to foot. Finally there was an irritated huff/groan.

"Fine! Whatever."

Fumiko pushed the door open with one hand, still gripping the semi painting/drawing with her free arm. This was either going to help, or it was going to make her sister explode like a badly made paper bomb. But she had to try.

The room had been obsessively cleaned, now that she temporarily had run out of punching bags and had to wait for new ones to come in. Most of the sand was gone now, shoveled away by her own hand- she refused to let Gaara help her- and the bags' shells had been thrown out. Kunai and one lone shuriken poked out of the wall, surrounding the hole from her sword in a perfect circle.

Fumiko wasn't one for useless words. Usually she said what was on her mind- and if what came to her mind was random, she said it, and had a huge reputation for idle speaking, and sometimes useless words were necessary, to smile, to laugh, to find something in common; but if there was something bigger to be said no word was useless.

"I made you this."

"Made me what?" Mai was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"This."

"What?"

Fumiko held it out, picture facing her stiff body. Finally, Mai's curiosity won out, and she turned her head to look at it.

And then stared.

It was a portrait of her, maybe two years ago, sometime right after the fight with Seimei, and her scar was still a little ragged and people were still a little mean and Mai still had a knack for getting in a down-and-dirty taijutsu 'training spar' with everyone who crossed her. Mai's hair was a little shorter then, and her swords had different hilt wraps- she had worn them out- but her painful smirk was the same.

Somehow she'd managed to anger a small mob of children her age, and while Mai was good, she wasn't perfect. She had come dragging herself home, limping and clutching her left arm, face a myriad of darkening bruises, with one black eye swelled nearly shut and a puffy red cheek that hid the tail end of her smirk.

It was a bust shot; you could just see her right hand clinging to her left bicep- where blood peeked out from her top fingers, beginning to trail- and she was trying to grin, one end beneath her swollen cheek, the other, with a trail of blood curving down her chin; black eye closed, tears brimming in her good eye.

Right before she said, "I won."

But she had been in pain, smiling, refusing to do more than admit her arm was probably broken and needed attention.

"Fumiko..."

Fumiko started at the ghostly little smile as Mai looked back up at the ceiling, eyes covered slightly by her black bangs. A small, sparkling line slipped down the side of her face.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Fumiko smiled. "You're welcome, Mai."

Mai's lips trembled, then bared as her body shook. Small sounds slid through the room, sobs, and Mai hugged herself, choking on tears. Fumiko went closer, put the picture on the foot of the bed, leaned over; was caught in a death grip as Mai lunged forward to her. Fumiko held her sister, held her, held her, that was all.

"Would I have-" Another tearing sob. "W-would I have made a good m-mother?"

Fumiko held her tighter, tighter fingers on her shoulders, and Mai's grip hurt, but so did her heart. "Yes."


	6. Cotton-Candy Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most popular chapter to date.
> 
> Guess.

Every once in a while, somebody asked if they could put flyers up on her studio's walls. Away from the artwork, of course.

Usually she said yes. Because really, why not? Sometimes she went to the events they advertised, or learned some new things about Suna or the way germs worked. Once or twice, a little boy or girl would shyly creep closer with a hand-drawn, crayon-covered piece of paper and ask for it to be displayed.

Pretty soon she had something like a communal billboard on her storage room door.

It was the end of the day. Fumiko was actually kinda tired, and as soon as she brought some food up to Gaara while he worked, she was planning on going to sleep. But- just before she left- she had checked the sheets of paper taped to the door.

And found something interesting. And colorful.

Okay, so Fumiko had known the anniversary of Sunagakure's founding was coming up. How could she not? It was a holiday off school, a reason to put streamers in the sand, a reason to turn down mission requests and just relax. It was almost as big as Christmas or Halloween.

But what she hadn't known was that, apparently, there was an annual festival that took place every year on that day, near the water supplies. A picture of laughing people throwing balls at pins was the main of the flyer, as well as a few words on the bottom and another, fuzzier picture of people dancing. Live band! Festival Games! it read. Free to all citizens!

Did Gaara know about this? The fact that both of them had missed this every year for almost fifteen years was pretty mind-boggling... but then again, the founding of Sunagakure correlated as the day they met, so usually they were off somewhere, swinging- and those swings were far from where any festivities would be heard- sitting on roofs (they must have been facing in the opposite direction) or the village wall, walking through the deserts outside the village.

Thinking back on it, it was really no surprise they hadn't found out... although she remembered being curious about the balloons floating about tied to things abandoned days after. It also tended to be around this time that Gaara got... well... almost sad. The festival was in a week. The anniversary of Yashamaru's betrayal- and consequential death- was in a week and a day.

Fumiko was quiet for a moment, staring at the little piece of paper with growing excitement.

And then she grinned, swiping it off the door and taking off from her studio to tell everyone about it.

...

"The Founders Festival?" Mai shrugged. "Yeah. I've been to it. It's a blast, right up until everyone gets stoned."

"Ooh, but it would be so much fun!" Fumiko squealed. "We could get all dressed up and play games and dance and hang out! And eat cotton candy!"

"Uh, I've never seen them serve-"

Temari elbowed her. "Uh, yeah, sounds like fun."

"Ow!"

Fumiko had found them together in the kitchen. They hadn't really been doing much, just lazing about on a Wednesday night and eating some leftover tarts. In fact, Fumiko was pretty sure they just happened to be there together at the same time more than they'd been hanging out.

Mai rubbed her ribcage, shooting Temari an irate glare, who just shrugged and smirked in return. "Anyway, Fumiko, I don't think we'd actually be hanging out. You'd be hanging out with Gaara all night. And festivals just aren't his thing."

Fumiko bit her lip. "You're right, actually."

"I'm sure he'd go if you asked him," Temari said. "Especially then."

She brightened. "Yeah," she said, and grabbed a strawberry tart from the plate. "I'm gonna go ask Gaara now!" Fumiko paused, thought for a moment, then grabbed another. "And see if I can make him eat."

...

"Oh. Yes." Gaara said, blinking and leaning away from the paper Fumiko was holding in his face in order to get a better look at it. "I had to approve a few things for that."

"So, you know what it is?"

"... Something that requires foreign supplies such as flowers, wood, and well-made toys?"

"It's a festival, Gaara. For Sunagakure Founders' day!" Fumiko laughed. "How much of that paperwork did you actually read? Or did you just stop at 'flowers'?"

"I may or may not have skimmed a few things." Gaara admitted.

"May or may not have?"

"In my defense, I'd just gone through two hours of negotiations and I wasn't exactly functioning properly." Gaara pushed the bottom of the paper up so he could see her face, leaning closer to the desk to peer upward. "So, what about it?"

"Can we go? Pleeaase?" She lifted the paper and smiled widely, pushing her face close to his.

"Don't I have to work?" Gaara muttered, leaning back and shifting through his papers awkwardly. Fumiko didn't seem to notice.

"Kazekage gets the day off."

"Since when?"

"Since... The day Sunagakure was founded, I think."

"Really?"

"Or, maybe not... I guess the Kazekage would have to work the first time, huh? Ne, maybe the next year they had the day off? The first anniversary I guess. Oh! But anyway, can we go?"

"Hn, Fumiko..."

"Oooh, please? It'd be so much fun!" Fumiko leaned over the desk, and got close enough to knock her forehead into his Kazekage hat, shifting it sideways across his head. Gaara flushed, moving his head down sharply so it fell over his eyes. "Oh, whoops."

Of course she fixed it.

"You look red." Fumiko peered at his face. "Do you feel okay?"

"Yes," he managed softly.

But now she looked suddenly concerned, reaching out a hand to touch his face, which he barely escaped. "I didn't give you my cold last week, did I? I didn't think you could even get sick."

"I haven't."

"I know that. I just didn't know if you could."

Gaara shrugged, absently twirling his pencil in one hand. "I'm not sick."

"Oh." A short pause. "So, do you wanna go? Please?"

I walked into that one, Gaara thought with an internal sigh. He twisted the pencil through his fingers. "I don't know, Fumiko. Wouldn't that be really, um, conspicuous... the Kazekage going to a festival?"

"What's that mean?"

"Conspicuous?"

"No." She laughed. "Conspicuous- standing out so as to be clearly visible. But, why would the Kazekage being at a festival be conspicuous?"

He pushed his hat up slightly with two fingers of his free hand. "Everyone would be staring at us all night."

"So?"

"So..." She was still smiling, mouth sprinkled with crumbs, looking at him expectantly, sort of leaning on his desk with nervous energy; shifting about. He could hear her prosthetic dinging against the floor as she bounced her feet. The flyer crinkled nearly forgotten in her fist against the wood; beside her hand lay an untouched tart. "So, er..."

...

"I've gotta say, Fumiko, you're better at a girls' day out than I thought you would be," Temari said from the dressing room. "You've got a good eye for color, at least."

"Thanks!"

"Hey, I dunno if I like this dress thing so much," Mai's voice said.

It was the day of the festival. It might not have been the best idea to wait until the day of to buy dresses, but Temari had insisted it was the only way not to get the same thing as everybody else. Mai didn't really care either way as long as she could wear something red.

Sliding as Temari pushed open her curtain. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've never worn a dress before." she snarked. "You're not exactly girlish."

An uncomfortable silence permeated the dressing rooms then, during which Fumiko stepped out, humming at her refolded haori and deciding to find a different one. It wasn't bad, but it also wasn't blue, and was rather short.

Temari blinked. "What? Really?"

"Do you want a different one, Mai?" Fumiko asked. "Huh. Is yours too short too?"

"No. I look hot." Mai's tone was one-third smug, uncertain, and annoyed. "But how are you supposed to put weapons in this thing? Or run? It's shortish and the fabric is thinner than decent oxygen in this village."

Fumiko, not really sure how to answer that question at all- they were going to a festival, why did she need weapons?- was mildly surprised when Temari answered. "You'll get used to it. My suggestion? Use bladed hair sticks to put your hair up in a bun. They can kill rather nicely."

"I was thinking more along the lines of sewing pockets for my senbon," Mai said as she slid aside the curtain and stepped out, voice grudgingly impressed. She looked striking in an almost short, tight bloodred kimono embroidered up her left side with a fiery gold phoenix. "But I like your idea better."

"Why are you bringing weapons to a festival?" Fumiko said, not quite alarmed, but confused. "It's not like somebody's going to attack us."

Temari admired her soft purple, regular length short-sleeved kimono sewn with small black circles and a yellow obi. "It's a kunoichi thing, Fumiko. Actually, you of all people should be carrying a weapon. I think I'll get this one." She headed back into the dressing room.

Fumiko frowned quizzically. "Wait! Why me?"

"Why you?" Mai sighed. "And here you have the brain, sister mine. Because you're practically Gaara's- now the Kazekage's- extra phantom limb. I know you hate shinobi tactics, but hey, crude can get the job done."

"It's a festival." she protested. "Festivals are supposed to be- supposed to be- festive! Not bitter."

"Best time and place for an assassination attempt," Temari muttered, voice muffled by the curtain. "It gets dark, lots of people, lots of noise, lots of drunk people falling. Nobody would notice. Or a kidnapping. No one would realize someone was missing in that kind of throng."

"Ah, leave it," Mai said with a dismissive but almost gentle wave of her hand as she noticed Fumiko's forming distress. "Gaara will be there the entire time anyway. He'd be too uncomfortable to be alone for long. He'll notice if anyone shady gets close. Gaara's a hell of a shinobi. Besides, Fumiko knows all the side affects of deadly poisons, right?"

"Yeah." she answered. "I studied them. But-"

"Right," Mai said. "You'll be fine then. Also, don't leave your drink anywhere. And if and when the lantern lights turn into pretty colors and every joke sounds funny, don't listen when people offer to take you home."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

"Just stay with Gaara."

Fumiko shrugged, smiling again. "Okay."

She realized she was blocking the door to the changing room. She must've gotten distracted talking when she tried to go back into the store to keep looking for a dress. There are a lot of dresses, Fumiko thought. Maybe they stocked up on colorful silk stuff in preparation for the parade.

She headed back out into the crush of girls and bored-looking boys.

...

After clothes they bought shoes. (Or shoe, in Fumiko's case, and she bought a dark blue slipper.) After shoes they got their nails done. (Fumiko had wanted to do them herself, but Temari said it would be fun. It was. Although Mai tried to stab the stylist with a hidden kunai when he touched her arm from behind to ask what color she wanted.)

Fumiko's matched her dress, with little white clouds painstakingly drawn out on her thumb and ring fingers of both hands. She didn't have to do her foot, considering that she would be wearing a slipper, but had decided to anyway.

The stylist had gotten a nasty shock when she decided to brush aside her cloak- which had been covering her other foot- and take off her prosthetic to make it more comfortable. It was somebody who'd transferred villages for safety reasons, or something, and hadn't known the story.

Mai went with red, of course. Temari got hers clear with white trim.

After nails, hair. Hair and makeup.

Makeup felt weird.

But her hair was so pretty, all of it pulled up in a bun that left her slightly more curled bangs and a few curled locks of hair left out to frame her face along with a few straighter ones drifting out from her bun, held in place by a pale brown ribbon. (Mai had persuaded the hairdresser to use her bladed hair sticks. As had Temari. The civilian woman had looked rather perturbed.)

They didn't put too much on, per her request. Just a slightly greenish, metallic gold eye shadow that curved just slightly past the corner of her eyes, natural looking pink lip stain/gloss color that tasted like strawberries and a vial of the stuff in case it wore off. Actually, she got a little baggie with samples of everything they put on her just in case it wore off. 'Foundation' as they called it, made her look a little paler, which was strange.

Mai went with a darker brown than her eyes, with red lipstick. They hadn't touched her skin with the foundation, it was far too tanned and would look unnatural compared to the rest of her. Her sister's hair had been tamed into a braided bun. For Temari, well, the only reason she wanted a bun was so she could have those weapons, so she had two small buns trailing hair down to her shoulders.

Temari had found another way to solve her 'kunoichi problem' as she called it. A small, white 'silk' fan gilded with green and red flowers and purple trim. Folded steel, of course. Bladed, of course. She could take someone's head off with it. But it matched her dress.

Even Mai was getting excited, chattering with them just like the groups of girls who had always turned their backs on her in the hallway. She had always wondered what they were giggling about. They chided each other as they walked- Don't get sand in your pedicure! Careful not to wipe your eyes! Watch where you swing your fan!

Many other girls had the same idea, and now, with only three or so hours left until the festival, all were rushing home, hobbling with still-fresh mani-pedis, laden with shopping bags of clothes, hair done in extravagant hairdos, some braided with headdresses. Fumiko stopped to talk to Matsuri when she saw her, but Matsuri seemed down and didn't want to talk, storming off.

Her date, another boy from her ninja class, quickly apologized and headed off after her, sighing and looking a little droopy. Fumiko almost offered him sugar, but Mai dragged her along.

"Come on, Fumiko. No time to play saint. We still gotta eat and change."

"Play-" Fumiko started to ask, but then Mai was starting to mutter that the boys had better of gotten ready or at least were prepared to get ready.

"Don't count on Kankuro," Temari teased. "He hates even taking his hood off."

Mai stiffened. "Yeah, well," she muttered again, and then fell silent for the rest of the trip back to the tower. Well, except for once more when somebody catcalled at her and she gave him the finger and yelled, "Knock it off, loser!"

...

Fumiko reached for the door to the kitchen. Behind her, Temari and Mia shuffled impatiently, having waited for her to struggle up the stairs after them, but unable to leave- she was making dinner. Or at least the snack before greasy junk food at the festival.

It opened too quickly; her hand shot forward and for half a second she thought she had gone through it. But then she realized Gaara had opened the door and she had her hand against his chest, kind of awkward and half-fisted. Gaara was- fidgeting, a weird, slippery nervous smile flickering on his face.

"Uh!" she grunted with surprise. "Oh, hi."

"What's wrong with you?" Mai asked bluntly.

"Fumiko, watch your nails," Temari warned. Then: "Oh. Not bad, Gaara."

Gaara was dressed formally. He wore a red yukata-style outfit with white trim. His hair was combed to the side to fully expose his kanji and completely uncover his cerulean eyes, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable, but there was still that nervous, almost impatient smile. Had he been waiting for them to come back?

There was icing on his nose.

"Hello. Fumiko. You all look nice. I like your hair."

"Thanks!" she beamed. "So, why is there icing on your face?"

"Oh. Um."

"It's about time you got back," Kankuro said, coming up behind Gaara and startling him. "Gaara's been pacing a frickin' furrow in the ground. He made food and didn't burn the kitchen down."

"Kankuro!" Gaara protested and turned slightly to look at his older brother, and for a second he looked so normal, anxious and so close to whiny he sounded like an ordinary teenager in sunday clothes and not the kazekage, that she laughed.

Gaara looked stricken for a second, torn between confusion and embarrassment, then quickly turned and fled. Kankuro barely avoided being bowled over, stepping to the side. He raised his eyebrows. "Well. That was weird."

"Oh... I didn't mean to-"

"I got this, Fumiko," Temari said, and brushed past her brother to find her other one. Gaara had fled into the kitchen- there was nowhere really to hide, unless he could somehow fit himself in the empty bottom shelf of the pantry.

"So." Mai prompted in the silence that followed. "Back to the subject of 'didn't burn the kitchen down'."

"Oh. Right." Kankuro stepped out and slid the door shut behind him. "He asked your mom for some recipe for cake. When I saw it it was crammed with notes. Step by step instructions so he couldn't possibly screw it up."

"Gaara made cake?" Mai frowned. "I dunno if he's supposed to make cake."

Kankuro shrugged. He too wore a yukata, only his was deep purple with a few swirling designs Fumiko couldn't quite decipher in slightly lighter shades of purple. His was put on messily, his brown hair was combed but still stuck up. Still, it was nice to see his face, without all the paint. "Smelled okay. Wouldn't let me touch it, though."

From the kitchen, voices floated. "... mean it's a girl thing? I... at me."

"Idiot. She... looked cute. ... wasn't laughing at..."

Kankuro sighed. "I'm so curious. But she'll kill me if I go in there."

"Well, I'm getting dressed." Mai announced. "Kankuro, I'm using your room. Don't you dare go in."

"Hey! Why mine?"

"'Cause I sure as hell am not using Gaara's," she said. "And Temari and Fumiko have to get dressed too."

Kankuro crossed his arms. "Do whatever you want." Then he coughed, "Girls."

"I'll stab you," Mai said cheerfully. "Then I'll stab you again for making me mess up my hair."

Tense silence.

Kankuro snickered nervously.

Then Mai smiled- grinned- at him and turned to walk down the hallway to Kankuro's room, swinging the bag with her dress and headpiece in it at her side as she went, whistling.

"She wasn't bluffing."

Fumiko smiled. "I don't think so. But don't worry. She won't stab you."

The door opened again suddenly. Kankuro, who had leaned against it in his fit of nervousness to look more in-control, was unprepared and stumbled, windmilling backwards with a shout. Temari stepped out of the way with an unimpressed snort as Kankuro regained his balance.

"I'm okay."

"Of course you are."

Fumiko stepped in. "Mai went to get dressed."

"Ah." Temari stepped out after Fumiko stepped in. Well, don't mind me. I'm going to get dressed too. And Kankuro is going to fix his yukata."

Temari grabbed his wrist and started pulling him out after her and he almost lost his balance again, but managed to whine at her in protest. She snapped back. They cleared the door. As it closed, they had just enough time to hear, "But Mai's in my-"

Then it clicked shut.

Fumiko fought the urge to bite her lip. It would mess up her makeup. At least, she was pretty sure it would.

"Hi," she said again to Gaara, who now just looked a little confused but less flustered. He nodded at her, and she dropped her bag on the island, surveying the room.

It was, to say in the least, a disaster.

Flour on the counters and on the floor. One partially wiped away egg that must have missed a bowl somewhere. Cocoa powder. Icing on the floor. Mixers. Bowls. It smelled like chocolate and burned Pam cooking spray. Gaara had used more or less the entire kitchen.

"Huh," she said when she glanced up by chance and spotted a tiny patch of cocoa powder clinging to the ceiling high above them. "How did that happen?"

Gaara followed her gaze. There was still icing on his nose. "I don't know," he admitted.

Then she looked down and saw the cake on the table. Small, made for one, maybe two people. The icing, blue, was uneven and gloppy and there was no actual decoration on it, not that he would have known how to do that with icing, or even how to fold the wax paper to make a spout to do it with. "That looks good."

He perked. "Does it?" Gaara said dubiously.

"It's a good thing that lady gave me more lip gloss."

...

They had an hour left when she finished. By now everyone had trickled back into the kitchen. Gaara was nibbling on a now cold plate of soba noodles he'd found in the fridge just to have something to do with his hands while she ate.

She didn't look disgusted. Or poisoned. That was a good sign.

Icing was on her face. She'd eaten a little more than half of it, but he'd seen her eat more in one sitting, so it wasn't unusual. She laughed with Kankuro, food in her mouth still, at what he said, although Gaara had missed it, watching cautiously for deception and picking at his noodles.

What had made him decide to make it?

Honest truth: he had absolutely no idea.

Maybe it was because he knew the night would suck for Fumiko. People would either avoid them or stare or run up to them and ask a million questions. He couldn't really dance. And somehow, he didn't think he'd be very good at festival games or really appreciate the lights and the people and music, or whatever she had told him would be there, the way she would.

Not that she would care. She never cared.

So there really was no reason for him to have-

"Hurry up, Fumiko," Mai whined, stretching out on the table. She sat on one of the stools. "Eat it later!"

Fumiko laughed. "Okay, okay," she said. "I'm gonna go get dressed then."

She got up and grabbed her bag peeking blue fabric and skip-dragged herself out of the kitchen. "Thanks for the cake, Gaara!" she said happily, giving a little wave, and then disappearing through the door.

Gaara breathed a sigh. Success. Or at least not total failure.

Temari had started to put it away, but before she could, Kankuro stabbed a fork into some of it and stuck it in his mouth before she could protest. She did so, very loudly, but then paused when his eyes widened. "Kankuro?"

"Blech!" he made a coughing sound, spitting into his hand. "What the heck?"

"That's rude!" Temari chided. "Fumiko liked it just fine."

"Fumiko is crazy," Kankuro muttered, and she cuffed him on the ear with her closed fan. "Ow! Fine! You eat it, then!"

Gaara came off the island, concerned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's- it's-"

"Salty," Mai said, licking her finger. "Like really salty." Her nose crinkled. "Salt and chocolate. Ew."

"What?"

Now Temari had tried some too, and she gagged. "Holy-" She swallowed. "I mean- ugh, screw it. How did she eat this without flinching?"

Gaara's heart dropped to his feet. He stepped to them, praying that maybe they were playing a joke on him, because Kankuro did stuff like this just to fluster him sometimes, and broke a piece off with his fingers and tried it.

And spat it out.

And wiped his tongue.

Shit. He'd screwed up. Majorly.

Mai started laughing. She stood up. "Gaara, where's the sugar you used for this?"

He led her to the counter with the flour and the sugar and the salt. He pointed.

Mai tasted some of it on her finger. "Fumiko does all of the cooking, right?"

"Most of it."

"She has, like, a super-sense when it comes to ingredients." Mai said sympathetically. "She doesn't need to label things. I did the same thing once. With my cereal." She nodded at the container. "Yeah, that's not sugar, Gaara. That's the salt."

...

Fumiko unclipped her cloak and dropped it on the bed beside her bag.

She'd just finished carefully wiping all of the icing off her face and reapplying makeup just like the lady at the salon place had told her to, and now it looked like she'd never eaten.

She kind of wished she hadn't. Her stomach churned a little. Fumiko smiled, pulling her shirt over her head and throwing it on top of her cloak, careful not to mess up her hair, which was a hard feat since it was a turtleneck. But she managed. Then she pulled down her shorts, stepped out of them, kicked them away; picked up her juban.

Dropped it by accident because the hem was caught under her prosthetic. Fumiko bent down to grab it.

The door to her bedroom opened.

Fumiko startled, dropping the juban again and straightening. Gaara stood in the doorway.

"Fumiko, I-"

He froze.

Fumiko realized she was wearing only a bra and panties, but for a second her brain didn't process that, and she just kind of stared at him for a moment. She blinked at him in surprise.

He made a stuttering sound, dropped his eyes, and slammed the door shut hard.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay." Fumiko called back when she heard the high-pitched distress in his voice. She picked up her juban again, then wrapped the top around herself. From outside her door there were harsh whispers, Kankuro and Gaara talking in rapid undertones. Fumiko put on the skirt.

"Can't believe you-"

"Didn't mean to!"

"That doesn't help!"

Fumiko pulled the kimono out of her bag. It was powder blue, decorated with white flowers and dark blue leaves, floor-length with small sleeves, not quite so billowy as the kimono Temari had gotten. She slipped it on, tightened it like a robe, then realized she had no way of tying the koshi himo around her waist and still hold the fabric up.

"Hey, Gaara?"

The voices stilled. "Yes?"

"Can you come back in here for a second?"

His voice was nearly a squeak. "Why?"

"I need help."

"I'm out of here," Kankuro's voice murmured, and then his footsteps were tracking away from the door, thumping down the hall and back toward the kitchen in long, quick strides.

The door opened slowly. Gaara's eyes were closed this time, covered by one hand, face down. He was flushed.

"It's okay." Fumiko said, shifting the fabric a little higher as it slipped. "My kimono's on. I just can't tie it."

Gaara muttered without words and moved his hand, still keeping his eyes down. "... I don't know how to tie kimonos."

"Come here. I'll show you. Uh, tell you. I'm holding the fabric up." Fumiko laughed a little. "Honestly, it's okay, Gaara. I was just a little surprised is all. No big deal."

"No big deal," he repeated weakly and did as she asked.

"Sweet. Thanks. Okay, see that belt thing? The white one? That's a koshi himo. Tie it around my waist. Cross in the back, tie in front. Under the extra kimono silk," she added. Tentatively, he did so, pawing through the bag to grab the belt and then tying it. Fumiko held her elbows out so she didn't block him.

"Little tighter," she said with a giggle.

It tightened.

"Perfect." Fumiko let the extra fall. Gaara stepped back as she adjusted it to hide the belt. He started to fidget again as she reached for her new datejime belt and tied that off, eyes shifting, skin not paling again in the slightest. Gaara looked like he had a sunburn. "Um. You okay?"

"... why are there two belts?"

"I think it's to adjust the length." she answered, humming.

"I screwed up the cake." Gaara blurted. "Er. Sorry. Then opened the door." He paused. "I should've knocked first."

Fumiko laughed, a loud laugh that made Gaara jump like a spooked animal, that made her drop the pale blue obi back on the bed. Fumiko could distinctly feel the eye shadow as her eyes pinched shut and she grinned. "Maybe. Probably. At least it wasn't Kankuro."

Surprisingly, after practically sharing rooms and bathrooms for almost eight years, Gaara had never walked in on her getting dressed. Maybe he knew her schedule too well to make that mistake. Oh, sure, she'd seen him without a shirt on a few times, while he was looking for it, when he was injured, but that was different.

Fumiko found she didn't much care what he'd seen before he slammed the door.

She tied the obi on, then slid on her one slipper, covering the little clouds on her toes. Her medical pack and satchel rested somewhere underneath her clothes pile and that was where they were staying tonight. It felt strange without their familiar weight or the weight of her cloak. Fumiko slipped her necklace back on.

Gaara stared at the pendant, hard. Then his face relaxed. The blush almost faded from his cheeks.

"Yeah," he agreed. "At least it wasn't him."

...

A few more mishaps later, they were finally on their way to the festival. The streets were filled with excited streams of people laughing, talking. Kids played by their mothers' legs. Couples stood close. Everyone was dressed beautifully, and Fumiko was sure that anybody flying above Suna at that very moment would see a kaleidoscope of colors.

Gaara was careful to avoid contact, although people now and then approached them to talk. Mai and Kankuro still bickered, but it was less bitter now, more playful than hurtful. Living in the Tower- the centerpiece of Suna- meant they lived right beside the water supply, right by the festival. They didn't have to walk far before the world filled with colorful, flickering paper lanterns, built-for-the-night stands bedecked with streamers and hand-painted signs, laden with games and prizes or food.

The air hummed with music from somewhere close by.

"Oh, wow," Fumiko said, eyes wide. "Look at this!"

As they got closer to the heart of it, Fumiko flitting about to look at everything and talk to the people at the stands, the group of hem eventually thinned out. Mai disappeared to find some shinobi base games she could win. Kankuro left shortly after, tagged by Temari, who followed after him. Then they were alone, her and Gaara.

They played the games. Well, Fumiko did, anyway. Only half of them actually let them pay for it.

Darts? She sucked at darts. Maybe all the failed shuriken training should have warned her, but she tried anyway and nearly took the eye off a poor overstuffed purple bear.

She was pretty decent at basketball hoops. She wasn't quite sure why that was, considering she had never held a basketball before in her life. A few seconds later there was an explanation when the knotted net sprinkled sand. Gaara looked quickly away. Fumiko laughed and accepted a stuffed orange cat the size of a kitten.

Fumiko pulled ducks from a small plastic pool filled with sand instead of water, kept swirling by some hidden mechanism underneath so the rubber animals spun slowly. As it turned out, she had pretty good luck with any kind of guessing game. (All she did was pick the blue one, but the people around her seemed impressed.)

"What's that?" Fumiko asked, pointing to a large needle-like structure with flashing bulbs and what looked like a bell.

Gaara blinked at it. "Not sure."

"Test your strength!" The man by the small gate called. "Three yen a shot! How strong do you think you are?"

"Oh," Fumiko said curiously as someone paid and stepped forward. He hefted an oversized mallet onto his shoulder, raised it, and slammed it down with all his strength onto a little lever. She jumped when the tower lit up green and pink about three-quarters of the way up.

"Not bad!" the gamemaster praised, and handed the man a small rubber hammer.

"Ooh," she said. "That's pretty cool."

"I'm not going to play it." Gaara said before she could ask. "If I tried I'd either break it, or fail and, well, I don't think it makes much sense for the Kazekage to..." He looked at it skeptically. "... No, I'd break it."

Fumiko laughed.

Then jumped a foot when the blond gamemaster materialized beside her. "Hey, care to try your luck?"

Gaara shook his head. "No, thank you."

Fumiko peeked out from behind Gaara where she'd fled to. "Oh, hello," she said.

"Come on," he said, wheedling. "Just one game. I'm sure you're stronger than you look."

Fumiko giggled. True, Gaara did look different with his hair combed away from his eyes, without his fighting clothes or his kazekage robes and hat, but usually the red hair set them off. But for whatever reason, the man had not yet recognized the Kazekage.

"I'm sure," Gaara repeated.

"Can I try?"

The blond man in a dark brown shirt and white pants blinked at her, surprised. "You?"

"Uh-huh."

"But..." his confused frown melted into a bright smile. "Why not? I'm sure you're stronger than you look."

Fumiko realized with some bemusement as she followed him closer to the machine that he'd used that same line twice. She wodered if Mai had tried this game yet, or maybe she had blown all her money right away on food instead. Mai would be good at this game.

The hammer was heavier than it looked. Fumiko almost dropped it out of surprise, but swung it up to her shoulder, like she had seen that other man do.

Huh, she thought. The handle feels just like my staff...

"Okay, little lady, here's what you do." Out of the corner of her eye, Fumiko could make out Gaara, who was smiling slightly nearby- smirking actually. He had walked around the small throng to get closer. Nobody had recognized her from behind, with her dress covering her prosthetic, and now they were whispering. "You swing the hammer at that puck there. The lights will light up. The higher it goes, the stronger you are. You get three shots. Got it?"

Fumiko smiled. "Got it."

He stepped back, gesturing widely with his arms as if to say, she's all yours!

Fumiko chewed her lip. Maybe it was just like her training?

She swung it, hard. Miscalculated the topheavy excess. Her shot almost went wide, clipping the edge of the puck.

She made a little surprised sound. It wasn't like her staff, after all. It was heavier. Not balanced. She frowned at it thoughtfully, humming.

The gamemaster smiled politely. "Two more shots."

Fumiko lifted it again, grunting a little with the effort. The dress made it harder to center her foot and her prosthetic, made them closer together. She needed to find a different way. Again she swung, hit the puck, but the light only bounced about a quarter of the way up.

The gamemaster looked surprised. "Not bad at all," he said. "Most girls your size-"

"Come on, Fumiko," Gaara said, and suddenly the gamemaster flinched, finally recognizing his voice from where he stood nearby, arms crossed. He looked at Gaara, then at her, hefting the bat again and grinning, and his mouth opened. "They're all looking at you."

"Yeah, I know. It just feels weird." She flashed the master a smile. "One more shot, right?"

"Um, right." he said. "You're...?"

"Hi," she said, and shifted her fingers, got a good grip, and swung.

...

Fumiko laughed. "I didn't mean to fall over. The bell startled me. It was loud."

She was holding a big stuffed tiger, much bigger than her little kitten- it was a little more than half her size- which Gaara now held. Fumiko needed both arms to hold the orange and black plush. Unfortunately, setting the bell off had more or less made her stumble back into a stack of crates, tumbling an avalanche of toys like plushies and small rubber mallets.

Luckily Gaara was expert at cleaning up messes with his sand by now. Ironic, since he was the messy one.

Her bun was a little sideways now, but it wasn't bad, just felt a little weird. She'd seen Mai at one of the milk bottle games, crushing them to bits and shards of glass with red rubber balls, and told her about the strength game. She'd been ditched rather quickly, Mai grinning as she took off.

Gaara shook his head. "They looked awfully surprised."

'To be fair, I wouldn't have been able to do that a year ago."

Gaara shrugged. "Maybe not."

Fumiko sniffed the air. Then brightened. "That smells like cotton candy!"

...

Her lip stain gloss stuff was almost gone, its strawberry flavor gone in favor of bright pink, cloud-looking cotton candy. She munched on it happily. Every now and then Gaara took bits off and popped them into his mouth. She didn't mind.

At one booth- another guessing game of sorts- they met up with Yoshiki and his group of friends who had once upon a time been Fumiko's group of friends.

"Hi, Yoshiki!" Fumiko said as she accepted her prize. The booth must have been owned by a restaurant- she got a gift certificate.

He blinked at her. "Fumiko?"

The four other kids with him- Shunichi, Tadashi, and Naoki were absent- blinked and greeted her warmly before nodding politely to Gaara and turning their heads back to the game to yell at each other.

"You look nice," she said. Yoshiki was wearing a gray haori over a nice black t-shirt and pants.

"You too," he said.

His friends shrieked again, and he turned to quiet them down. Gaara pointed in the direction of music, the direction everyone seemed to be making their way to whether they meant to or not. She waved goodbye to Yoshiki and left.

Music throbbed closer as they walked. Around one building taped with colorful lanterns that were starting to burn low- it was getting darker out, which only made the flashes of color even prettier as the sky lit up with lights of its own. A full moon, too- and they were at the band, a group of familiar looking civilians with instruments and a few vocalists propped up on a stage much like the one Gaara had been made Kazekage on.

Tables were scattered around, flimsy plastic things that wouldn't last two seconds in a Suna wind should it choose to kick up. Completely impractical. She loved it. They were covered with plastic cups and tubs of popcorn and plates of food, prizes; the chairs were filled with resting people relaxing and talking.

People danced in the starlight-mixed-with-lantern-light on a makeshift dance floor, a huge expanse of mats laid out on the leveled-out sand for a flat-ish surface. Fumiko saw Mai in the throb, laughing her head off, probably drunk, and dancing to a quick-paced tune.

She took a moment to sit in an empty chair Gaara helped her find, placing her tiger on the table. Gaara put the kitten next to it and sat down beside her in another chair he pulled up. She licked the last of the cotton candy off her fingers, then pulled her prosthetic up, sitting half-crisscross like she usually did when her stump hurt.

It was sore. She'd walked too much. But this was so much fun!

Gaara seemed to read her face. "Having a good time?"

"Yesss." She drew out the S, then laughed. The wind rustled her still prettily curled bangs, cold air cutting right through the fabric and making her shiver, but Fumiko didn't mind. The sand was cooling and soon it would be freezing. She kind of wanted to dance but knew with her clumsy footing she wouldn't be able to keep up with the music playing. "Are you?"

"More so than I thought I would," he admitted with a wry grin. "I suppose social events aren't all that bad."

Fumiko laughed. "See? I knew it would be fun!"

He nodded. "Yeah."

The music changed, as did the stream of dancers, shifting in and out and changing from dancer to sitter and sitter to dancer. New dancers came from other parts of the festival. Some left. Some remained where they were.

They watched the dancers go by for a while, just talking. Eventually they bought a funnel cake and piece by piece it vanished. The plate blew away and Gaara moved his fingers to trap it with sand and throw it away.

Mai and Kankuro swung by, each holding a cup of something that smelled weird. They chatted briefly, then were pulled away by the attractions- namely the man who kept catcalling until Mai realized it was at her and Fumiko. Gaara's face twisted distastefully, but Kankuro followed after Fumiko's raging sister and promised to take care of it.

And then it was two again.

...

Gaara didn't know if it was a good thing he was enjoying himself or not.

It probably was.

But it also meant he would be dragged to more occasions. Although, he supposed that as Kazekage he should attend at least something called Sunagakure Founders' Day Festival. Gaara was surprised that neither of them had learned about this before- because really, the festival was literally twenty minutes from where he lived for all fifteen years of his life.

Gaara pondered that, glancing sideways at Fumiko, who was singing along to some song and tapping the rhythm out on her raised leg with her palms, fingers dotted with specks of white powdered sugar. The pink shine on her lips Gaara had suspected was makeup was gone now.

Gaara hadn't been sure what to expect when all three girls left to 'get ready.'

Or what to expect when they got back to his surprise.

Failed surprise.

Gaara smiled uncomfortably to himself for a private second. Fumiko, of course, had already forgotten his accidental entrance into her room.

It was pretty much all his fault. Kankuro had yelled after him when he skittered away to apologize for that absolutely terrible cake she had somehow ingested with a perfect poker face, except he hadn't really heard his brother until the door was open and he'd slammed it again.

"She's getting dressed, Gaara!"

Soft music rang through the air, easy and low. Beside him, Fumiko stood, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Ooh!" Fumiko grabbed his wrist excitedly. "Gaara, a slow song! Let's go dance!"

Gaara let himself be pulled by the hand to the center of the throng of people, where a general area for dancing seemed to have materialized near where the band was playing. The dges of the dance floor had been abandoned. More people had left than stayed as the fast music faded.

Fumiko limped along in front of him, laughing, eyes bright. They ended up surrounded by couples and one lonely boy who seemed to be looking for somebody. Mai had vanished from the floor.

Gaara couldn't complain when people started staring.

"You're not alone," the lead singer sang softly. "Together we stand..."

Fumiko stopped, close to the center of the floor but closer to the band, and turned. "Come on, dance with me," she said, and before he could protest that he had absolutely no idea how to dance, she had taken his hands and put them on her waist. "Like this," she said before looping her hands around his neck.

Fumiko had grown a little.

"I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand."

Fumiko's cheeks were flushed red from cold, and Gaara almost said something about going inside but she was smiling, and they swayed, spinning slowly, following the lazy slush of the other dancers. Gaara tried desperately not to step on her foot or prosthetic- that would send them both tumbling...

"When it gets cold, and it feels like the end, there's nowhere to go, you know I won't give in."

There was a jump in the music as more instruments joined in, or perhaps they were playing louder. Gaara couldn't really tell. The smell of chocolate and lavender perfume filled the air around him, and he was just lost. Fumiko smiled, tilted her head and then said, "I like this song."

Gaara nodded mutely.

"No, I won't give in..!"

They completed another spin. Fumiko, still smiling, rested her head against his shoulder, humming to the song. The loose hair from her bun tickled at his skin. Her arms were warm around his neck, almost blazingly so against the biting chill in the air, or maybe that was just him...

"Keep holding on,"

Fumiko stopped humming, shifting so that she was looking up at him. Gaara was fairly certain that his face was red; they were flush against each other. They hadn't been this close without hugging since the last time they made a blanket fort, and nothing was the same now as it was back then. So simple back then, and now...

"'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

"Ne, Gaara?"

"... Yes?"

"Thanks for coming tonight. I know you don't really like dancing all that much, especially in public like this."

"Of course."

"Just stay strong- 'cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you."

"You smell good," she said, and Gaara could almost hear her smile this time. He blushed even harder, averted his eyes, looked over her head at the band. The lead singer was a girl, someone he didn't recognize. "Like sand and... Gaara?"

"Yes?"

Laughter. Her thin frame trembled. "No, silly. You smell like Gaara."

"... Oh?"

"There's nothing you could say, nothing you could do, there's no other way when it comes to the truth. So keep holding on, 'cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through..."

They continued to slowly twirl. He'd managed not to step on her yet. Gaara hoped in the spotted darkness she couldn't see his flush. She apparently didn't, suddenly falling quiet, contemplating something. Gaara knew this because she was biting her lip.

"So far away, I wish you were here; before it's too late, this could all disappear. Before the doors close, and it comes to an end..."

Somebody jostled them. Gaara was almost frightened for a moment that it would break the silent acceptance between them, but the couple only apologized hurriedly and moved on. Fumiko didn't appear to even hear them.

Step, step, step... His hands were hot where they touched her small waist. Step, step, step...

"With you by my side I will fight and defend- I'll fight and defend- yeah, yeah."

"You know," Fumiko said suddenly. "Everyone's staring at us."

"So?"

She smiled hugely; he could feel it through his shirt.

"I've always wanted to hear you say that."

"Keep holding on, 'cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

"Really?"

"All those times, when they were looking at us weird, and you always said..." Fumiko paused. "'Can we go somewhere else now?'"

"Just stay strong, 'cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you."

Gaara nodded and inexplicably, unexpectedly, unabashedly held her tighter.

Fumiko's grip tightened behind his neck; her hand clasped together with her wrist loosely, but it almost seemed like she was pulling him down, even though her head wasn't even lifted. She grew silent again.

"There's nothing you could say, nothing you could do,"

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, almost worriedly but mostly curious. His face still felt hot.

"There's no other way when it comes to the truth."

"Hum..."

Gaara shifted to look at her face; or tried to, she had it buried in his shirt again and aside from the gentle swaying and spinning, didn't let him move. He frowned slightly. He tried to lean away to look at her face. "Fumiko..?"

"Shh. Hold on a second. This feels good. I'm thinking."

Thank Kami for the darkness.

"So keep holding on,"

"I'm done," Fumiko said suddenly, lifting her head. "Thinking... I mean."

"Was it good?" Gaara asked. Usually whenever she thought so hard about something, it meant she had a new idea for a painting. With all of the lights, the music, the gentle spiral and push and pull of dancing, Gaara wouldn't be surprised if she had gotten inspiration. He wondered for a moment what it would be- people dancing? Blurred colors?

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Uh-huh."

"'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

Gaara waited. He was getting the hang of this dancing thing now, minus the uncontrollable redness in his face and neck. He blinked down at her, embarrassed, and her eyes seemed soft for some reason, melted like the chocolate she loved so much.

"Gaara... could you lean down for a second?"

"Hear me when I say, when I say I believe-"

An odd question. Perhaps he was too tall and she was starting to stumble? But it didn't feel like she was having any trouble. He might have just been clueless about it. Gaara blinked once, twice, then leaned down slightly.

"Nothing's gonna change, nothing's gonna change destiny."

As he did, there was a tug from Fumiko's linked hands, and she pushed up on her toes at the same time as he jerked forward-

\- and she closed her eyes and kissed him.

Her lips were the softest thing he'd ever felt.

"Whatever's meant to be will work out perfectly."

In all of the books and movies Gaara had ever seen or read, kissing was described as feeling like fireworks. Explosions of feelings, tastes, and screw-the-world-because-I-love-you-ness. They were wrong, though. This wasn't like fireworks.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."

This was like a sugar rush- the kind of sugar rush you can only get by raiding the fridge after one of Fumiko's parties. This was like energy racing up and down his veins, making him want to just run and scream for hours and hours, but at the same time turning him liquid inside.

"La da da da da..."

This like was Fumiko's hyperness, it was like adrenaline, it was like something perfectly too sweet. Gaara finally, after all these years, understood Fumiko's number one motto: Sweet things solved all problems. There was still a little bit of that screw-the-world-because-I-love-you-ness, though.

"Keep holding on,"

Gaara could hear the music almost stall but sputter back to life, could hear the gasps and aww's and one very distinct "No way!" that he realized had come from Matsuri somewhere. There was a shift in the crowd; but Gaara didn't care because his eyes were closed and they had stopped dancing right there in the middle of the floor and she was holding his face and he was pulling her closer-

"'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

Finally, finally, too soon, she pulled back, and smiled.

"Just stay strong."

"Oh," Fumiko said, "So that's what it was, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't sure at first," she said with a small smile, and they started to spin again, spinning and spinning, wide eyed stares whirling slowly past. "If that was going to work. But I guess..." She laughed.

"'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you-"

"... That I just wanted to kiss you!"

"There's nothing you could say, nothing you could do,"

"F-fumiko?"

"Love you."

"There's no other way when it comes to the truth,"

Gaara had been expecting something different to be there, in those words. Some new hidden tone, a change in her voice, something else in her smile. He was expecting the Love you to mean I love you, Gaara in a completely new way. But he was wrong. None of those things happened. Just- Love you.

"So keep holding on, 'cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

The words were exactly the same. She didn't say them differently; there was no added passion or huskiness or even any extra tenderness to the phrase. She smiled at him just like before, and everything was the same. But, Gaara realized- slowly realized, mind spinning like his feet- he realized it was still changed because he was suddenly seeing it in a brand-new light.

"Keep holding on."

Fumiko didn't suddenly love him more because she already loved him as much as she could- that was a lot, he also realized- she didn't say it differently because she'd been saying it right from the beginning, and she was smiling because it was true- smiling because she had said it over, and over, and every time, it was true.

"Keep holding on."

She was his best friend in a way Gaara couldn't comprehend. More so than one, but a best friend was what she was- one who laughed and was happy and that somehow, someway, impossibly, cared about someone like him, someone like Gaara, who had caught up much, much too late.

She had loved him all this time.

"There's nothing you could say, nothing you could do,"

Fumiko and Gaara had confessed again and again, hundreds of times, hundreds of ways. They hadn't realized it; but they had, because the words had grown like a wild thing between them and they hadn't stopped it because they hadn't wanted to.

Gaara touched her cheek with just one finger, like he had years ago, when he didn't know about hugs and or their words or even that he should have comforted her. All those years ago, just before Yashamaru, who always had hung so heavy on his mind, that was when it started, Gaara thought.

She smiled at him one more time, and he kissed her again.

"There's no other way when it comes to the truth; so keep holding on..."

His fingers slid up her arms; they were in her hair now, and hers were in his. This kiss was different, not a statement, but a promise.

Fumiko tasted like cotton candy and pure joy.

When they broke apart, having halted again mid-step, Fumiko was flushed and a little bit breathless. Gaara smiled his small smile, curling a few strands of brown hair with his finger. "You too."

When she got her breath back, Fumiko laughed.

"'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through."

...

As the music died away, chord striking on softer chord, people started shifting around them, trying to get on or off the floor, but they avoided the pair, surging around them like a sandstorm against a building.

"So." Fumiko said, grinning.

"So..."

"So, what?"

"What, what?"

She laughed at his startled expression. "What now?"

"I guess..."

"Guess what?" Her smile grew.

"I don't know."

"Maybe I do," she said. Music started up again, faster this time, but they didn't start dancing. Nobody nagged at them to leave. "Maybe those reporters were right."

Gaara didn't say anything for a minute. He didn't even flush. When he did speak again, his voice was so quiet that Fumiko barely heard him over the song. "Really?"

Fumiko opened her mouth, but was interrupted.

"Kankuro and I kissed," Mai said in a somewhat giddy slur beside her. "It was actually pretty hot."

Kankuro, close behind, barked out a drunken laugh. Where and how Mai had gotten alcohol was a mystery, but that mystery would be solved, probably, easily, by asking the only person who ran a booth that sold alcohol if Kankuro had bought in excess. "Damn right it was. Fumiko, I never knew your sister was such a-"

"Kankuro," Gaara interrupted warily, obviously annoyed. "Are you drunk?"

"Hell yeah."

"Totally nailed," Mai said with a dizzy smirk.

"Wait, are you two together now?" Fumiko asked curiously.

Kankuro and Mai looked at each other, Mai up and Kankuro down, swaying, and blinked. Then they burst into a fit of raucous laughter, holding their sides.

"You're really funny, Fumiko," Mai snickered. "A real riot. You and me, Baka-Kankuro!"

"Anyway," Kankuro drawled when the giggling faded. "You two were looking pretty hot yourselves for a minute there. We saw-" He pointed haphazardly in a random direction- "From over there."

Beside her, Gaara flushed. He stammered something Fumiko didn't really make out very well as he realized they were still standing like they were dancing, still holding each other, and backed away slightly, but she just laughed lightly and took his hand.

"I'm pretty sure," she said, tone excited, because she felt excited, now, and hadn't even realized it; deeply happy and just really, very content. "That me and Gaara are a couple now."

"Oi, you be nice to my sister," Mai warned, then paused. She waved her hand at them in a wild arc that almost took out one of her bladed hair sticks. "Aw, who am I kidding? You already act like a married couple. Happy honeymoon."

"Mai, we aren't-" Fumiko began, but they were already sauntering away to dance, melting into the crowd.

Fumiko laughed, looked up at Gaara, and eventually he started to laugh, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the cheesy cheesiness that is most of this chapter, but I couldn't help it. I love the way their love works- they are, in the most basic terms, best friends. Somewhere along the line, they crossed a line, and didn't notice.
> 
> Fumiko's more or less thought process at weird feelings in her stomach was, "I wonder if this is what it is..."
> 
> If it seems too sudden, that's why. They literally might as well have been a couple. Nothing will really, truly change between them at all, except that they might kiss every once in a while and introduce each other to strangers differently.
> 
> Review!


	7. Awkward Teen Romance (for Gaara, anyway)

The first time Gaara asked her out on an actual date, it was horrendous. Awkward, funny, and really kind of cute, but horrendous.

Fumiko blinked at him once, twice, looked down at the multicolored bouquet of tulips he must have gotten from the medical greenhouses and blinked at those, too, then looked back up at his face, smile twitching across her lips. He fidgeted. Gaara wore actual casual clothes, similar to the ones he used to, black t-shirt, pants, but he still had his gourd. Gaara always had his gourd.

Fumiko had just gotten back from her art studio, a little earlier than usual per Gaara's request through Asuka. She hadn't understood why he asked until just now, when he had knocked on her door and she answered and he flinched like he wanted to bolt. And shyly asked if she wanted to go out to eat.

"Dinner?" she asked. "Um, sure! But I'm covered in paint."

Fumiko gestured to, well, all of her: her arms were splattered with red, shirt stained with blue and green; swipes of purple across her cheek where she'd unwittingly scratched it, and hands, obviously, also colored purple.

She'd had a lot of inspiration since that night at the festival.

"Oh," he said. "Um, well..."

Fumiko laughed and backed up a little, opening the door wider so he could step inside. "Didn't remember about that, did you? Come on in, I'll just change really quick."

"Well, I..."

"Gaara, come in. I'm not gonna make you stand out in the hallway alone just because you saw me changing once. That was an accident." She looked up, at her ceiling, where sometimes shadows lurked darker than others. This had started ever since she and Gaara had come out publicly. She couldn't see them, but they were usually there. "Please leave, please."

Gaara looked alarmed. "You can sense ANBU?"

"No," she laughed as the dark spot materialized and vanished out a window. "I caught one once, looking at my paintings. Now it's usually like an eighty-twenty chance one or two of them are in here."

Gaara frowned. The pink dusting his cheeks lessened but didn't completely disappear. "I never told them to-"

"Eh," Fumiko said, waving a purple hand. "I don't really mind. They always leave when I'm changing or I ask them to, I think."

"You think?" Gaara asked warily.

"Think so," she agreed. "Pretty sure, anyway." Fumiko paused. Gaara was still standing there, not quite in the hallway and not quite in her room, clutching the bouquet by the stems with one hand like they were going to run away. "... Are you coming in, or...?"

"Oh." He flamed again. "Right."

He stepped in and Fumiko closed the door behind him, then made her way to the closet to find some clean, maybe different clothes than she usually wore. Her only kimono was still being cleaned, she really didn't even want to touch the black clothes shoved to the very back, and aside from that it was mostly white shirts and permanently stained, partially white shirts.

Ooh, but there was that dark blue shirt her mom had given her for her birthday, with halfway sleeves and a normal collar. It was a little small but that was fine. And... Fumiko rifled through the dressers for pants; pulled out a soft pale yellow skirt that would come down to her knees.

Fumiko frowned at it for a second. Where had that even come from?

She changed quickly. Her blue sky and cloud mani-pedi was still immaculate, and instead of a shinobi sandal Fumiko decided to wear a civilian sandal instead. It would look less weird with the more civilian clothes. She glanced in the mirror attached to her dresser momentarily.

There was a squishing sound as Gaara sat down on the bed behind her. The pink paper that held the flowers crinkled noisily.

Nothing to be done about the acrylic on her skin. Fumiko knew from experience that those particular colors weren't going to come out any time soon, so she was stuck with a purple hands, a purple streak on her face, and red on her arms, but luckily the purple was soft and red went with blue, so everything matched, in a weird kind of way.

Skirts felt weird.

The fading yellow on the walnut charm matched the color of her skirt. She left her hair be, and it was still a little messy from a day of rushing around and painting and still kind of windswept from the Suna wind, but brushing it would be futile if she was just going out again.

"I'm done, Gaara," she announced.

He made an odd sound, something between a cough and a yelp. She glanced at him in the mirror, staring. "Where did you get a skirt from?"

Fumiko shrugged. "Dunno."

...

It was a very nice restaurant. Very nice. With softly glowing lanterns and varnished wood tables, and free rolls, and a huge menu with no pictures and fancy things Fumiko didn't even know how to pronounce. She ended up ordering something called 'Merzetti' which was really fun to say with an accent, and turned out to be mince and pasta.

They didn't talk much. Fumiko tried, but every time, the conversation died.

Every. Time.

Gaara glanced nervously at her every now and then, with a tulip in her hair, and paint on her face, and then glanced just as quickly away every time she noticed. The other customers were looking at her funny as she ate, staring at the way she held her fork and ate her food until she caught herself trying to mimic them- sit up straight, awkward hold on utensils-

Why was there more than one fork?

As she puzzled this out, pasta in her mouth, inspecting a fork that was way smaller than the rest, Gaara commented on the soft music played by a small live band in the corner.

"It's very nice, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Silence.

She gave up. "Gaara, why are there so many silverwares?"

"I'm... not sure."

Fumiko shrugged and went back to eating. "Whatever. How's your Vee-shee-swaiz?"

"It's very good."

Silence.

"Gaara, are you okay?" Fumiko asked, concerned. "You've barely said a word all-"

He started. "Of course! Are you?"

When she didn't answer right away he took a sip of ice water, a very nice thing for a restaurant to have, because that meant it was good enough to request extra water rations. Hers had a bendy straw in it.

"Yep, I'm fine, but-"

Gaara tugged on his plain black shirt collar like it was choking him. His eyes narrowed like he was distressed, and Fumiko realized, then, exactly how out of place this was, how out of place they were, going on a date at a nice restaurant, like a normal couple, like normal people with normal lives and normal thoughts, not like people who had almost died multiple times, not like someone who had a demon inside them and a kanji on their forehead or someone missing a foot and covered in paint.

She laughed. Laughed hard. Laughed like something was hilarious, which it was.

Gaara flinched. A lot of people around them jumped then turned to glare before realizing who they were and quickly looking away with irritated faces.

"Fumiko, shh," Gaara said, but now he had a nervous twitching smile. "What's so funny?"

"What are we doing?" she asked.

"What..." Gaara's eyes darted down to his lap. "... Going on a date?"

"Why?"

"B-because... because we're dating?" he said, in a voice that was partially hopeful and partially thin with worry. He put his spoon down in his soup bowl and swirled the liquid, staring down at it. "Kankuro said flowers and dinner was a good idea for a first..." he trailed off.

"Kankuro?" Fumiko asked incredulously, grinning. "You asked Kankuro for advice about me?"

"... Maybe?"

"Gaara," she said, "Are we dating, or are we a couple?"

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Maybe," Fumiko admitted with a smile. "But not really. Dating is so you can get to know a person and hang out with them, I think. We hang out all the time, and if you don't know me well I'll eat my pictures. Why the sugar are we being weird?"

Gaara blinked at her, understanding dawning in his cerulean eyes. "Fumiko?"

"I mean... why don't we go hang out on the wall, or window-shop, or work together on kazekage stuff, or swing, or something? Why are we in a restaurant eating vee-shee-swaiz and merzetti so fancy-ish people can stare at my paint?" Fumiko giggled. "And why didn't I bring my sugar, and wear a skirt that I don't remember getting?"

"Huh," Gaara said. "I... huh."

"I'm pretty sure they don't have chocolate cake here for dessert," Fumiko continued. "However, I'm pretty almost certain there's still cake left in the fridge, if Kankuro hasn't eaten it yet."

"Escape?" Gaara suggested.

"Sure," Fumiko said, putting her chin on her knuckles and leaning forward slightly, grinning. "And then, let's change."

...

The second time, Fumiko asked Gaara, and it was less like a date and more like friends hanging out, which was better somehow.

Gaara had gotten off work early- not quite a day off, but in time that they could watch a sunset, according to Fumiko, and she was right. The sun was being painfully slow, but soon the sky would turn red and orange. They watched as it set toward the edge of their world- a few large dunes of sand in the distance.

She sat next to him on the high Sunagakure walls, shoveling soupy chocolate and peach ice cream scoops drenched in fudge and whipped cream and caramel that they hadn't been allowed to pay for into her mouth as fast as she could as she talked without getting a brain freeze. Gaara ate his own plain Sea Salt ice cream, much calmer than Fumiko, listening contentedly as she spoke.

"- and then I accidentally smeared peanut butter on my painting, but it turned out okay. I mean, it smelled like peanut butter, which was weird sorta, but it was only a few shades lighter than the brown I was using anyway. Mai still thinks I shouldn't eat and paint at the same time-"

Fumiko jabbed out with her clear plastic spoon to accentuate her words, flinging little droplets of peach ice cream into the air so they dropped down to the sand far, far below them, shimmering on the hot air. They vanished as he tracked them- peach was a very chameleon color when it came to sand.

"- what do you think, Gaara?"

Gaara scraped his spoon at the edges to get a bigger spoonful while it was still ice cream and not Sea Salt soup. "I think if you didn't eat while you painted, you would forget to eat at all. So, go ahead."

She grinned at him, then went back to eating.

There was a long stretch of silence- and by long, Gaara meant probably two or three minutes- during which the sun sunk lower to the horizon and the sky turned the color of fire. Gaara glanced over at her, but she just watched the sun, squinting a little, smiling, chocolate on her chin. Fumiko had already painted this scene a million times, but she always told him that every sunset and sunrise was different than the last, so Gaara never could tell when she was thinking ooh, pretty colors or actually thinking intensely.

Fumiko downed the last of her ice cream, holding the cup to her lips and tilting her head back. Then she put it on the wall edge behind her and sighed happily.

The top of the wall was a nice place to be. It was about wide enough for multiple people to stand shoulder to shoulder, but their preferred place to sit was on the edge with their feet/foot hanging off the edge, watching the sand blow past below them like miniature sandstorms. His gourd rested behind him, not wrapped on his shoulder.

"What next, Gaara?" Fumiko asked, leaning forward slightly to look at the sunset. "Movies? Board games?"

Gaara was about to answer, opening his mouth slightly, but then suddenly Fumiko stilled; paused, partially stretched out into the void of air, like she was frozen. Anyone else might not have thought anything of it, but Gaara immediately recognized the sign.

Gaara's eyes widened. For that to happen- right now? But she was leaning over the edge of the-!

Suddenly her eyelids drooped, her arms went limp- her hand brushed the cup and it sunk into the air in front of her- and with nothing to support the weight of her upper body, she momentarily seemed to bend over double, then slipped off the edge and plummeted straight down into the air headfirst.

For about two feet before the sand caught her.

As it brought her back up, all limp body appendages and flopping hair, Gaara sighed, partially out of exasperation and partially to try and ease the rapid jackrabbit of his heart.

"Have you slept at all in the past week?" he chided softly, knowing she couldn't hear him any longer, dead to the world like she was. His gourd rolled behind him, into his back, nudged by the flying stream of sand that had rushed out of it too quickly. He reached back with one hand, wrapped the leather strap around his fingers and carefully stood up, grunting.

He slung it over his shoulder and turned to make his way to the stairs, Fumiko and the floating cloud of sand trailing behind him.

...

"What happened to the sunset?" Fingers clawed dazedly at air in a darkened room.

"You fell asleep." Someone shifted at the foot of the bed. "And off the wall."

"Did I? Really?"

"Yes."

"Oops."

...

The third date was actually an accident.

Fumiko had stayed a little late at the studio, Gaara a little late at the office, and now it was six am the next day, and she had never left.

Gaara, having realized she was gone and had probably never even gone home, wandered down to her shop and poked his head in. At this time of morning, she only had one other customer, an artist himself who bounced off her like she was a muse and sometimes borrowed easel space.

"Is it morning?" Fumiko blinked at him owlishly, wiping her hands off on a rag. "Huh. I didn't notice. I've been working on-" she gestured with one hand at the swirling green and yellow and white and black and brown abstract mess of a canvas in front of her- "This."

His eyes flickered to it wearily, then to the other man, then back to her. "You should go to sleep."

"Yep," she said distractedly, eye catching on something on her canvas, a mistake, most likely. Fumiko bit her lip. "Just... just let me fix this really quick."

A half an hour later, she was still working on it, and now the man had recognized Gaara and was asking a million questions. Gaara, still unused to positive reinforcement by strangers, was distinctly uncomfortable and kept stepping around easels and piles of tarp or canvas to keep distance between them.

Finally he retreated to Fumiko's side.

"Can we leave? Please? You don't have to go to sleep."

"Hold on." she said distantly. "Just a second."

"No, no hold on," Gaara said in an urgent whisper. "He's following me!"

"Paint something," she said, waving a hand awkwardly at the canvases behind her without really realizing she almost took one of his eyes out. "He respects that. Me. When I do that. He leaves me alone."

Fumiko was almost full-on artist mode. Unless he sounded really distressed or asked her an interesting question that she really wanted to find the answer out to, she wouldn't stop working or murmuring out the side of her mouth.

He'd painted before, obviously. Having Fumiko as a friend made it impossible to not have. But it didn't, under any circumstances, make it impossible to be a terrible artist with no real eye for color. Maybe he could just paint splotches and the other man wouldn't notice? (He wasn't a Jounin, or a shinobi at all, otherwise Gaara would have recognized him and he would have backed off a long time ago.)

Fumiko's little shop had quickly grown in popularity. Soon it would be filled with equal parts ninja and civilian.

Awkwardly and with an air that screamed of inexperience, Gaara picked up one of the smaller canvases and dropped it on an easel. For some reason there were already three or four open cans of paint around it that he was careful not to kick over or step on.

Immediately, the young artist wandered back to his own easel and continued painting.

Gaara proceeded to paint a very bad tree that he ended up being almost proud of, even though it was majorly terrible. It took him almost an hour of intense concentration, and when Fumiko finally moved and poked his arm, he realized his back was stiff and his shoulders hurt and his neck, too.

"That's a nice tree."

It was not. It was spindly, with an all-brown un-shaded trunk with spiky branches and a big round smear of green around them like a mushroom top. There was a blue sky and misshapen white clouds. Those were the only four colors left out by the easel, so there were also brown birds that looked more like m's, and a solid green rectangle grass with painstaken and terrible looking dashes of green on the top to look like grass blades.

"No it's not." Gaara sighed. "Can we go home now?"

Fumiko grinned. "You were really really into that, weren't you?"

Gaara realized with a start that there were people in the room, and that the young artist was gone, and that hold on a second, Fumiko's abstract was dry and hanging on the wall, which usually took a couple of hours. She carried a platter of cookies on her arm that still seemed hot, like she always did when she gave them out and mingled with the customers.

"How long have we been here?"

Fumiko shrugged, then held up a hand, counting fingers. "Uhm... one, two... three... uh... four... like four, five hours, maybe?"

...

The fourth date lasted all day long.

It was one of Gaara's rare days off, and they had spent the first have of it just lying around and not saying much, taking the much needed opportunity to just do nothing for a while. On Gaara's days off, Fumiko usually posted either the closed sign or a genin team at her shop to handle things. Neither of them really ever got the chance to be lazy.

The second half of the day had been spent being stereotypically themselves, wandering through the open markets, buying various foodstuffs or just looking at things. Fumiko had more money now than she ever had before, even after giving some to her family, because of her shop, but still, she usually didn't buy things. They'd also swung, which was really awkward, and even Fumiko had been forced to admit- a little sadly- that maybe they were getting to big for that.

Then they had come home and were lazy again. Fumiko unearthed an old movie that they hadn't watched since they were just kids, and now she was in the kitchen making popcorn, and Gaara was waiting in her bedroom- the only one of the two of their rooms that still had a tv- with the movie on and paused, blanket fort built up around him, supported with stools and chairs and the bed and a few wooden pieces of puppet Gaara wasn't sure how they'd gotten hold of.

The door opened again, and then closed, and the smell of popcorn filled the room. Soft padding mixed with scraping thunks as Fumiko walked, then bent down with the popcorn in one had to crawl into the space beside him. Gaara shifted to make room.

She smiled at him, kissed the corner of his mouth, then settled down onto the blankets with the bowl on her lap, oblivious to the sharp reaction that small action had caused.

Gaara really hated blushing. It made his face feel hot and his stomach the closest he could ever guess to what feeling sick was like. But at the same time it was so damn thrilling, like a fight mixed with a win mixed with a summer wind.

Beside him, Fumiko keyed the remote to start up the movie. He didn't really know or care what it was about, something along the lines of a rogue bounty hunter living the hard life, something he'd watched a million times before the chuunin exams.

Fumiko was wearing her nightclothes, which no longer consisted of a thick nightgown. Now it was a long-sleeved dark maroon red shirt that used to belong to him before he outgrew the lot of them, and fluffy blue pyjama pants printed with white spots. He himself just wore plain, soft black pants and loose t-shirt. Warm clothes were a necessity- obviously they didn't have heating besides the occasional fireplace, and it got really, deadly cold at night.

Not that it mattered. They were sitting in their own kind of igloo, warmth radiating and trapped from and under every blanket, like tarps spread over branches with the bed in the back, the only open space directly in front of them like the open flaps of a tent, to see the tv and to breathe. Fumiko would probably fall asleep halfway through the night, fall on his shoulder and drop the popcorn.

Or maybe she would already be on his shoulder, if she kept getting closer and pushing into his side like she was...

It used to be so easy to put his arm around her shoulders. It still was, but in a way, it was awkward and made him hyper-aware of everywhere they touched.

They leaned back against the long edge of the bed, Fumiko randomly quoting lines as they were said just because she could, and ate popcorn. In the movie, the bounty hunter was having a flashback of arguing with someone and heading out to be alone. I'm tired of this life...

Gaara could count on his fingers the number of times they had been able to do this since the chuunin exams. He'd give anything just to keep things like this, with Fumiko's warmth seeping into his side, and sweet popcorn in his mouth, aware and relaxed at the same time- as relaxed as a shinobi could ever be- with a crummy cheesy movie playing and a puppet arm wobbling suspiciously beside him under the weight of the blankets.

He tried not to dread the coming morning, when of course this would end and work would begin anew.

"You're coming with me, nuke-nin," Fumiko quoted in a low-pitched voice, synchronized perfectly with the actor in the movie. "There's nowhere else to run."

But there's always somewhere to run, bounty hunter, the S-rank taunted.

"Not when I'm on the job!"

Fumiko giggled to herself quietly and then lapsed into silence, letting the characters speak on their own, burrowing further under his arm and curling up her knees to her chest. They were uneven; she had taken her prosthetic off a while ago, so she rested her arms on one knee and transferred the popcorn bowl over to him. It was half empty now.

His gourd rested somewhere by the door, by the front of the room. For once he didn't feel compelled to have it, because they were in the Kazekage tower, and he was the kazekage, and there was sand on the floor anyway and besides, nobody was giving orders against him anymore.

Not that he knew of, anyway.

Gaara ignored that particular train of thought and used his free hand to reach back behind him under the bed, where there weren't any blankets, and draw circles in the layer of sand that rested beneath it.

...

Hours later, it was dark except for the starlight seeping in through the partially opened curtains of her bedroom window, the credits for the sequel were rolling across the screen, and Fumiko had, as predicted, fallen asleep on him.

The blanket fort had partially collapsed on top of them, wooden puppet piece support failing. Now there was half a blanket on top of him, still half draped over the rest of the makeshift tent, and he could no longer see any more than half of the screen because it was on one of his eyes, but Gaara didn't really mind.

He would move. Soon. Probably. The popcorn was gone, the empty bowl lost in the folds of the blanket nest he sat on, and somewhere, a maid was singing nearby, probably cleaning an empty guest room a few doors over.

And one or both of them would be stiff tomorrow if he didn't- Gaara was leaning slouched against the side of a bed and Fumiko was curled like a half-moon sitting up, head slowly sliding down his shoulder centimeter by centimeter.

Also, the movie was playing for the second time an extremely annoying theme song as the credits ended.

But he didn't really want to move, actually.

Moving meant going to his own room.

Leaving the warmth and safety of the blanket fort and the girl against him.

Picking up his gourd like the hardened shinobi he was and carrying it down to his room so he could stare at a painted ceiling until he decided it was time to work because he didn't want to sleep.

And then tomorrow people would pester him to eat and he would refuse until Fumiko came in with breakfast, asking why he didn't wake her up, then maybe helping for a bit before leaving to go to her studio, and he would be alone with paperwork for the rest of the day.

Unless Matsuri visited again...

No, Gaara decided. Much better to pretend it won't be two AM in a few minutes, judging from the moon.

...

Eventually, Gaara sighed and struggled out of the blankets, turned the movie off and then the tv, placed Fumiko carefully on her bed and under some of those blankets, then left, picking up his gourd as he went.

Along the way he met the maid, who was making her way periodically through the guest rooms like she did every Tuesday morning before any new nobles or future mission-suppliers could arrive.

They greeted each other politely then went their separate ways.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he closed the door, wandered to his bed, dropped his gourd, and laid down on the covers without getting under them.

He stared at the frozen comets and water lilies on the ceiling above him.

Then the sun was rising a while later, and with it, so did Gaara, putting on his robes and slinging up his gourd and going to his office.

Matsuri arrived, nagged him to eat the rolled omelets she had made.

Then Fumiko showed up with a plate of fish and rice, and they ate together. Matsuri sulked, Fumiko smiled at her, then asked, "Gaara, why didn't you wake me up?"

...

Fumiko stopped counting the dates. That wasn't exactly what they were, anyway.

She opened the door to his office with her hip, bumping into it so her elbow hit the doorknob and it popped open.

Gaara was there, along with Matsuri and Sari, who were squabbling between themselves. Fumiko tapped her pencil against her clipboard pinned with manila envelopes filled with art supply shipment orders she hadn't yet delivered for her studio.

Gaara looked up, face tired, from his work.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," she said back, then smiled. "I was heading to the aviary to send these off to Konoha and Kusa. Do you want to come?"

"I'm working, though." His voice sounded regretful.

"No, me!" Matsuri hissed.

"No, I am! You don't stand a chance!" Sari cried.

"Let me rephrase," Fumiko said, smile tipping into a grin. "Do you want to take a really fast super-quick break and walk with me to the aviary?"

"Sure," Gaara replied in a relieved tone. Then, as he noticed the two preteens perking, added, "Matsuri, Sari, would you take over here for a moment?"

For a second, both girls visibly deflated. And then-

"Of course, Gaara-sama!"

"He was talking to me!"

"No, he was talking to me!"

"No, he-"

Gaara stood up quickly, dropping his pencil on the desk and coolly making his way to the door. Fumiko stepped aside, Gaara stepped through, and then she let the door close. Muffled arguments could still be heard through the wood.

"What was that all about?" Fumiko asked as they left down the hallway, toward the stairs. "Because you were talking to both of them."

"I don't know," Gaara grumbled. "They do that all the time."

Fumiko laughed. "At least you're connecting with the village, right? All the people of Suna love you now."

Gaara rubbed his eyes with one hand, smiling tiredly and almost satirically, like ha ha, joke's on me. It tipped his hat up. Red peeked through. "Relationships... I could live with being Kazekage, but these girls-" Gaara made a face. "They never stop."

Fumiko tapped her clipboard against his arm. "Aw, don't worry about it. They'll stop."

"How are you so sure about that?"

"Because they will." Fumiko shrugged. "I dunno, it seems kind of mellow to chase after someone your whole life. Especially someone," she said, laughing, "Who looks at you like a blowfish when you declare your undying love to him for a third time in the same hour."

"I don't look like a blowfish." Gaara protested.

"Yes you do."

"No, I do not!"

"Yep," she said, "Yes you do. Like mn-mn-mn," she said, widening her eyes and pursing her lips, opening them, closing them, opening them-

"Okay, okay, I get it." Gaara sighed, smiling a little, a Gaara smile. "Blowfish."

Fumiko grinned, lips still pursed, and puffed out her cheeks. "Mn."

They had reached the stairs now. Fumiko handed Gaara her clipboard so she could keep both hands on the rail as she climbed, even though she probably didn't need to anymore. Better safe than sorry.

Even if Gaara would catch her.

When they finally pushed into the aviary, almost at once the animals quieted. For reasons unknown to Fumiko, animals didn't seem to be very fond of her best friend-turned-boyfriend, and usually, the caretakers loved it when Gaara appeared, because instantly the birds were well-behaved, avoiding attention.

"Kazekage-sama!" a chuunin message runner named Natsuki called. "What can we do for you?"

Gaara shook his head no, and pointed with his thumb at her. "Not here for me."

"Ah, Fumiko-san!" Natsuki smiled. "Here with your stock requests?"

"Yeah," Fumiko answered, pulling the envelopes out of the clip. "I just finished filling these things out last night. Man, it takes forever to do inventory on all my stuff! But here-" She handed them to him. "They're already labeled for Konoha and Kusa."

"Kusa?"

"Plants. I need plants."

The chuunin shrugged. "Sure. Whatever you say, Fumiko-san. I'll send another runner down to the shop when the shipments arrive."

Fumiko nodded, glancing around at the cages, but she didn't see Asuka anywhere. "Hey, Natsuki, how's Asuka been doing? She's been gone a lot lately. Every time I come up here, the runners always tell me she's out on espionage or something like that."

"Asuka's great," Natsuki said. "Damn bird's good at what she does, even if she does squawk and shriek her head off whenever another messenger bird tries to take your letters anywhere."

Fumiko grinned. "Sweet."

Beside her, Gaara was looking up at all the cages. It was warm in here, not quite hot but humid, the ceiling dotted with perches for birds that weren't in their respective cages. Feathers drifted. Asuka was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Kobo, the sleek black bird Asuka liked to play with.

"How many birds do we have?" Gaara asked quietly.

"Counting the ones that aren't here?" Natsuki considered. "I'd say about fifty five, maybe sixty birds circulating. We only ever have about twenty here at once, though. New mission requests being sent, being picked up from neighboring countries, a few ordinary letters back and forth by privately owned birds, shipment orders. The usual."

Natsuki glanced down at the envelopes, then whistled sharply in two different tones and patterns. A pair of desert hawks came fluttering down from the perches, unusually quiet for birds, shying away from Gaara's immediate airspace, down to the perches by the release window, which Natsuki opened. A rush of hot, sandy air blew in.

These two birds, both tawny, were bigger than the others, called for good reason since it was manila envelopes they would be carrying. Natsuki slipped both into large bags with handles for the birds to grip, deftly tied a support string from the flap to one of their feet for each pouch, then stepped back.

"Tekkan, Kusa. Kusa. Kusa. Sata, Konoha. Konoha. Konoha."

The birds blinked up at him. He trilled again sharply, and the birds screeched before scrabbling and flapping to and out the window, pouch handles clutched in their sharp talons. They veered sharply in different directions, then shot into the skyline, above the window so Fumiko could no longer see them.

Natsuki closed the window again with a grunt, cutting off the sandy air.

"Alright," he said. "Sata should be back first, maybe in a week or so... did you have it specifically labeled which companies you're supplied from?"

"Some of it."

"Then maybe a week." Natsuki nodded. "But Tekkan might not be back for a while."

"That's fine." Fumiko smiled. "I need the stuff from Kusa for my good paints, pigment sticks, smooth crayons, and special texture watercolors... From Konoha I can get paper canvas, new brushes. I don't need any of it right this second, though."

Gaara cast her an interested sideways glance. Fumiko realized he'd never seen how she ran her store before.

"I need to get back to work," he said, gravelly.

"Oh! Sorry." Fumiko giggled. "I forgot. Bye, Natsuki."

Natsuki bowed his head respectfully. "Fumiko-san. Kazekage-sama."

...

Fumiko pulled a feather out of her hair as they approached his office door. It was black spotted with white, and as long as her pinky finger. Unsure what else to do with it, she stuck it behind her ear.

Gaara opened the door. Inside, not much had changed, except now Matsuri was gone, and there was only Sari quietly manning the desk but looking hopelessly overwhelmed. The girl wasn't even a chuunin yet- she had no idea how to handle paperwork other than a mission report.

"I'll handle it now, Sari," Gaara said. Sari jumped.

"Ah! Gaara-sama!" She stood quickly, almost knocking over the chair in her haste. "Fumiko-san!"

"It's Fumiko, please, Sari," Fumiko said.

Sari flushed, then bowed slightly. "I- I have to go home now." She looked up, smiling. "Goodbye, Gaara-sama!"

Then she skittered out the door, and they were alone. Gaara sat back down at his desk, sighing and pulling a piece of paper closer to skim it over.

Fumiko pulled a chair closer from the side of the door and scanned over his desk. It was scattered with papers, mission reports mixed with half filled out shipment orders piled on top of and underneath statistics and Suna resident requests. "Hey, Gaara, was your desk like this when you left?"

He blinked at it. "I think so, yes."

Fumiko sat, pecking his cheek as she did so, then folded her fingers into the pages on his desk. "Honestly, Gaara," she said good-naturedly, fighting a smile that twitched across her cheeks. "I don't understand how you get anything done."

"I just keep working."

"That explains why you never go to bed," Fumiko said, shaking her head, grinning now. "You never realize what was today's or yesterday's or last week's work. So you never run out of things to do."

"My assistants are supposed to filter out partially so I only keep a day of paperwork at once without piling up."

"How experienced are your assistants, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gaara, how many guys applied to be assistants when you put out the notice?"

"None."

"And how many girls, say, thirteen to sixteen, applied for the job?"

"... Oh."

...

Fumiko slouched on the couch in the living room.

Not really a living room- they didn't actually have a living room, since this wasn't actually a house. But they did have a room on the main living floorspace on the siblings' level that was modified to hold two couches, an overstuffed armchair, and a small makeshift working space for Kankuro to work on his puppets. There were punching bags in the back corner, a tv in front of the couches, and a thick fluffy sand-yellow rug.

They did stuff, all of them together, sometimes. Ate snacks or watched a show or played video games; her, Kankuro, Temari, Gaara, and sometimes Mai or Baki. More often than not, though, there was only one or two people. Maybe Kankuro was working on puppets when his studio was accidentally flooded with poison gas, or Temari was reading, or Mai was sick and tired of being at home and pounded on the punching bags.

This was where she was, on one of the couches across from the tv. She was the only one here, though.

It was supposed to be Gaara's day off. They were supposed walk out on the desert outside of the village, maybe get ice cream, maybe play a memory game or two or three when they got home.

But there had been a crisis.

An extra hour had turned into a morning had turned into all afternoon had turned into... Gaara never coming home.

Now she was curled up under a blanket, on the couch where he was supposed to meet when he was done- he should have been there hours ago- watching some sort of fuzzy cartoon on the tv, eyes drooping. It was too late now, too dark, too cold, to do anything, even if he did get home, but she didn't feel up to going to her room.

They had been busy all week, almost too busy to do more than breakfast in the morning, bumping in the hallway.

Fumiko's Kusa shipments had finally come in, she'd spent all day yesterday and the day before that and the day before that transporting it to her studio, then actually putting it away, using it to make her paints and waxes, and going to the mineral excavation shop in Suna for rich soils and clays only found underneath the desert sand, which had kept her fairly busy.

Gaara had been dealing with some new criminal group rising within Suna's walls. She didn't know the specifics, but she did know that it was a gang of petty thieves that were causing more than their fair share of trouble for citizens of Suna.

She herself had had problems with broken studio windows and rocks inside, although they were just too high to break into, so all that meant was that it was a few days to get the windows' glass replaced and that she ended up with a few busted portraits and a pileup of blown in sand.

Kankuro popped his head in. "Has Gaara come in yet?"

"No."

"You should go to bed."

"No."

Kankuro sighed. "Okay, fine. Don't stay up too late."

"O-" Fumiko yawned. "... Okay."

...

When Gaara came home again, he was frustrated, he was tired, and he had completely forgotten about meeting Fumiko in the rec room.

He didn't remember again until about an hour after he got home, lying in bed, half asleep but meditating instead.

And then he sat up, cursing, because dammit, she was probably still waiting.

So he got out of bed, in his nightclothes and rubbing his eye as he made his way to the opposite end of the darkened hall. There were no sounds, all lights were off on this level except for one. Sure enough, the light was on in the rec room, peeking out through the bottom of the door.

He opened the door, blinking at the light, and started to say, "Fumiko, I'm so-"

But then he noticed the slumped lump of blankets and hair sleeping soundly on the couch. The tv played, something stupid like a kid's cartoon that he had never watched as a child. Fumiko had fallen asleep waiting.

As he got closer, Gaara realized she'd never even changed, still dressed in her sleeveless turtleneck and shorts. The blankets had slipped off, probably while she flailed, and now she was still, lying almost sideways, one leg hanging off the edge, prosthetic rolled off onto the ground. Fumiko was shivering almost imperceptively.

Her bedroom was on the floor below this one, in the guest room area. Did he really want to try and balance her down a flight of steps, tired as he was?

... Or he could just use his sand. He really needed some actual sleep.

He was just about to pick her up with it, sand rising, when she started to stir.

"Hnnghh, turtles." she muttered. "... Gaara?"

Fumiko sat all the way up, rubbing her eyes.

"You're awake."

"I'm awake." Fumiko blinked slowly. "I'm sleeping? Was. Sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Do you want to go to bed?" he asked, kneeling to help her attach her prosthetic.

"But. We were supposed to... do something together."

"Fumiko, it's night."

"Night."

Gaara nodded and stood. "Midnight."

"Then it's not too late." Fumiko hummed, taking his hand and pulling to her feet. "Let's do... something. You promised. I did."

"Do what?" Gaara said with some soft amusement as she fell against him, so tired and disoriented she was practically sleeping on her feet. "You can barely make yourself stand up."

She looked up, straight up, not leaning back, and kissed him, one, two, three times without ever lifting her lips from his, and then put her head back down on his chest, sighing. She tasted like chocolate and sugar. "Love you."

Gaara flushed. "You... You too."

Fumiko started humming to herself, jerky but soft, not loud, but standing out against the quiet. Gaara started.

The song from the festival. Come to think of it, Gaara realized he had never found out the name of that song, but Fumiko seemed to remember the tune even in her half dazed state, and she was smiling with her eyes closed, almost asleep. Her feet stumbled about; without thinking Gaara followed.

And then they were dancing in the rec room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her primary element is water: Fumiko above all goes with the flow, shifting and tweaking to fit the situation while never really changing. She's sweet and so entirely unabraisive that you just can't pick a fight with her. Her secondary chakra nature would be Earth, because no matter what, she always stays grounded to her own beliefs. You just can't chage her mind. She's stubborn in a quiet way and will always stand by what she believes is right.
> 
> She is not: Fire, Lightening, or Wind.
> 
> *People with Fire affinity are people like Mai, Sasuke, and Hiruzen, intense and passionate.
> 
> *People with Wind affinity are people like Naruto and Temari, stubborn and brash.
> 
> *People with Lightening affinity are like...
> 
> ... Kakashi.


	8. Broken Blood

Fumiko swung her staff- not as hard as she could, nor as gracefully, but shorter, faster, each movement more precise and exact than the last, twirling and twirling (usually until she tripped) around her like a pair of hummingbird wings.

Of course, she was practicing on a dummy.

Fumiko was still practically useless in battles, and even in spars, because she knew how strong she was and she knew, as a medic, that the places she was supposed to hit would bruise, or bleed, or snap, and none of those things were pleasant. Not to Kankuro, not to Mai, not to anyone who taught her how to fight.

She tripped.

Into the dummy, and then onto the ground, Bo staff clattering away.

Matsuri, who still worked on her Dohyo even though the sensei had switched and she was in another year, paused what she was doing. "You good, Fumiko-san?"

Her voice was nowhere near as sweet as it used to be. Kind of bitter, at her anyway, more like a vocal scowl than anything else. Fumiko wasn't quite sure where it had come from, or why. (That was a lie. She had a pretty good idea where it came from.)

Fumiko pulled back to her feet, grinning tiredly at Gaara's former student. "Yep, I'm fine."

She leaned over and picked up her Bo staff, weighing it in her hands, palming it absentmindedly.

It was so easy to overstep. You never knew when you needed to correct, or stop overcorrecting; you needed complete control and awareness of every step you took, every move you made, and although she claimed it as a skill, Fumiko was no taijutsu expert. Not like Lee, or even Gaara.

She was just... art. Genjutsu was all she had. If she punched someone, she could injure them. If they stood still, she could injure them. But if they moved, if she needed fighting, killer instinct and feet that moved by themselves-

A foot that moved by itself.

Fumiko sighed, not quite in frustration, or exasperation.

She would fall on her face the first time someone seriously tried to kill her. Or accidentally hit herself in the face with her own staff. Or both. Whichever one came first.

Bo staffs were so light, though.

She remembered the big, wood and rubber hammer at the festival where everything and nothing had changed. Top-heavy. Harder to swing. Less accurate. But she had known where it was, had only overswung once before figuring it out.

"FUMIKO!" someone, Mai, yelled from the front of the arena. Fumiko turned. Mai was leaning against the huge doorway, twirling a senbon needle through her fingers. She didn't bother coming inside. She raised her free hand in greeting. "MOM WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"

"Why are you yelling?" Fumiko called. Mai knew better than most how good her sister's hearing was. But from here, Fumiko couldn't make out her sister's expression.

"I dunno." Mai shrugged. "Don't ask me why I do things. Probably 'cause I'm bored."

...

As they walked, Fumiko realized that Mai was excited about something.

She didn't say anything out loud, which was strange, because with Mai, her emotions were your emotions unless she was upset. The black haired almost-kunoichi just grinned, walked, and listened as Fumiko talked.

"Weighted Bo staff?" She considered. "Maybe. You've got strong arms if nothing else."

That was even stranger, her sister agreeing with something right off the bat, no that's not a thing or you're already having trouble with a normal staff or you can just genjutsu people anyway.

"What's up?"

"What?"

"What's up?" Fumiko repeated.

"The sun. It's this really cool thing we have, a big ball of fire in the sky, only usually it's a little too bright to look directly at." she grinned wolfishly. "Which might actually explain why your vision sucks. Because you always stare at the clouds."

"Ha ha." Fumiko smiled. "Maybe. But, what're you so happy about?"

"Happy about? Nothing," Mai said breezily. "Just... did well on a test at school."

"Really?"

"Um, yeah. I can do well on tests too, you know."

"I just-"

"I know you just. There's the house."

"The- house?"

"The house," Mai said slowly. "Where mom and dad and me live."

"I knew that. Yes." Fumiko blinked at the little apartment building. It had been so long since she'd been here last, Fumiko almost hadn't recognized her old door number. As of right now they were standing only a few feet away from it, grey and yellow. "Hello."

"Weirdo. Who are you saying hi to? The door?"

"Um. Yes." Fumiko laughed. "It's just been so long. I haven't actually talked to mom in, what, almost a year?"

"Not since you quit the hospital," Mai agreed, taking out her spare key and unlocking the front door. "The only reason I ever see you is because I break into the Tower and hang out with you guys while you're working."

"You don't break in." Fumiko grinned. "All the doors are unlocked."

"I skip class."

"What?"

"Nothing." She shrugged. "Hey, MOM!"

"WHAT?"

"Fumiko's here!"

"WHAT?"

"I said Fumiko's here!" She puffed out a growl. "GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE CLOSET!"

Fumiko rubbed at the ear closest to her younger sister. Mai wore a red kunoichi top, and tight black pants that looked like leather, with a pouch strapped to one thigh and a knife case on the other, with her tanto blades strapped to her hips. Slashed down the corner of her lips was a thin white scar from Seimei's dragon blades. Her black hair was wild, more so than usual. And-

"Mai," Fumiko blurted suddenly, "Did you get your ears pierced?"

"Shh." Mai put a finger to her lips and tugged on a lock of her hair so it covered the little hole. "Don't tell mom. And it's ear, singular."

"Fumiko?" Her mother, in her brown haori, stepped into the hallway. "I'm sorry. I'm cleaning out all the closets."

Mai stepped back, arm holding open the door, gesturing inside with one hand dramatically. "After you."

Fumiko stepped in. Her nose filled with ginger and mint, something cooking in the kitchen. She looked around, down the long, narrow hallway, and the doors into the kitchen, and to Mai's and her old room, and the entrance way between those things into the living room.

There was still a lighter shade of sand plaster just behind the door, where Gaara had once smashed the door in looking for her, and another spot, a thinner coat but a wider radius (she could barely see it) exactly across from the entranceway, where Gaara had once slammed her father into it with enough force to crack the sixty five year old wall.

"Where's dad?"

"Dad's somewhere," Mai said roughly from behind her, good mood suddenly gone, and pushed past her to walk down the hall. "Who the hell knows?"

She slammed Fumiko's old door behind her.

Fumiko cast a questioning, wide-eyed look at her mother.

She sighed. "It's complicated."

"Yeah." Fumiko nodded. "Hey, but what did you need?"

"What, I'm not allowed to want to see my own daughter?" Her mother grinned, but her smiles were softer than Fumiko's or Mai's. "The last time I saw you was when you helped me perform a six hour long surgery. How's life at the Tower? Exciting?"

"Not really." Fumiko smiled. "Wake up, breakfast, work, home sometimes, get Gaara to go to bed, go to sleep."

Fumiko's mother nodded slowly, like the elders had done when they were trying to be wise. Fumiko cocked her head to the side, waiting to see what she was getting on about. A question? Concern? Her mother took a breath. "About Gaara. Mai told me you two are dating now."

"Holy shit!" Mai yelled from what was probably her new training room. "If you're gonna do that, I'm outta here!"

"Language!"

"I think it's maybe a little too late for that," Fumiko said, wondering, what does Mai know that I don't?

"I know. Ugh. Where did she get those words from, anyway?"

"Kankuro. Dad. Other ninja." Fumiko pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Mostly Kankuro."

...

"So."

"... So." Gaara said, a little distractedly. "So, uh... what?"

"So my mom talked to me weird."

Fumiko had her sketchbook in hand, pencil twirling in her fingers like Mai's senbon. On the plain, unlined, bleached sheet of paper was a half-drawn sketch of a Bo staff. She was trying to do dimensions. She was also sitting on a stool, one leg pulled up like she always sat, leaning her back against the wall across from Gaara's desk.

The sign on her studio read 'closed' even if she had four commissions she needed to get started on.

Gaara blinked slowly. When he was working, it always took him a few extra seconds to process spoken words. He never shushed her, though, so she didn't stop. Usually she left him be.

"Weird?"

"Weird." she confirmed.

"What kind of weird?" Gaara frowned thoughtfully. "Your mom isn't usually weird."

"About the reproduction system," Fumiko clarified. "Stuff I know already, but she was making it sound funny, like I didn't, and I was kind of embarrassed for some reason, and Mai jumped out a window-"

"What?"

"Mai jumped out a window."

"Not that."

"Oh. I got embarrassed?"

Gaara hissed air between his teeth, face turning a peculiar shade of red. "Did you say reproduction system?"

"'Birds and bees'," she quoted. "Mom said-"

"Oh, jeez," Gaara muttered, and now the color was spreading down his neck and up his ears, disappearing into his hat and the collar of his robes, and there was a sharp sound as his pencil snapped in his fingers. "Oh, jeez, jeez..."

"Gaara?"

"What! Nothing." His head jerked up, eyes wide. "I wasn't thinking anything."

"... What?"

He covered his face with his hands. "Oh, jeez."

...

"A landscape, then?"

"Yes, please," The girl, probably no older than twelve or thirteen, said. "With... with flowers and mist and a sunrise."

"Mountains?"

"Huh?"

"Mountains?"

"Oh, uh..." She thought for a moment. "Um, yes, please."

Fumiko smiled at her, then looked back down at her notebook, tapping her lips with the pencil. Flower field, Mist, Sunrise, and Mountains were all bulleted under the young kunoichi's name, along with Wildflowers, Poppies, and Morning Glory in a subtext.

"Got it." Her head tilted as she thought about it. "I like it."

"How much will that cost?"

"Full canvas?"

"Yes."

"Watercolor or acrylic? Or oil? Or wax crayon?"

"... Whatever you think is best?"

"I have no clue how much this'll cost." Fumiko laughed. "Ne, lets wait until I finish it, okay? Then we can come up with something. Do you need this by a specific time?"

"Um, not really, no... It's just, I just graduated as a Genin, and-"

"Oh, congratulations!" Fumiko smiled.

"Uh, uhm, thank you. But anyway, I'm moving into one of the reserved rentable apartments for Genin level, and I don't have very many things, and..."

"How long until you move?"

"Two, maybe three weeks?"

"I'll have this done in two, maybe three weeks, then."

"Really?"

"Sure." her grin turned lopsided. "Commission like this would take me five, maybe six days, tops? On top of my other commissions."

"Oh. Thank you!"

"No problem. Can I ask why you thought of this?" Fumiko asked conversationally as she tore the page out of her carbon copy paper notebook and turned to pin it to the wooden line behind her desk, which was littered with five or six others.

"I, uh... I feng shui."

"Oh. Sweet." Fumiko stuck a tack into the page, then stuck the pencil behind her ear before turning back around. "Cookie?"

"Uh, sure."

While she ate, Fumiko glanced over at her rush hour crowd. Considering that most people didn't buy things, only commissioned them, it was funny how she always had so many. Ninja felt safe here (according to the one she'd asked, it was because anyone who caused trouble here was stupid to get crushed by sand) and civilians liked the swirling stained-glass effect, and they all liked to watch her paint, or to eat, or to hang out.

Of course people bought her already made stuff sometimes, but they were mostly foreigners looking for souvenirs- Sunagakure wasn't much of a knickknacks and useless toys kind of place- or fairly rich citizens who wanted to be able to show off Fumiko's signature to their dinner guests- because that was actually a thing now- or, sometimes, there was the occasional person that just wanted to be on good terms with the Kazekage's girlfriend.

Which was irrelevant.

And she told them as much. Not that it made them stop.

"Why do you make food all the time?"

"Heh?" Fumiko blinked. Her vision settled again on the young kunoichi girl with mousy brown hair cut to her shoulders and dark eyes. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Why do you make food all the time? Like cookies?"

"Because I like to. And because people like to eat them."

"But isn't that expensive? It'd be one thing if you sold them, but you just give them away to anyone who might have a sweet tooth, I think."

"Saa, price is relative." Fumiko tapped her own nose. "I don't actually have to pay for things, isn't that weird? The Tower I live in pays for everything. I'm like, totally squatting, basically. Except for here." She nodded past the girl to the crowds. "The money I make here I use for here, period. I don't need to pay anyone or give rent or anything. I just keep the place running, art supplies, sometimes genin teams to help with stuff, food, if there's any left."

"So your studio is a hobby?" the girl said incredulously. "That's..."

"I used to work in the hospital. Like, a real job, with real hours, and real, serious responsibilities." Fumiko shrugged. "I'm a medic, not a doctor."

"That's the same thing."

"Not really, if you think about it. I heal people. I like to heal people. But I don't like being paid for it. Or given a schedule for it. Or..." she frowned slightly, more a crease in her forehead than an actual movement of her lips. "Being told not to help people because they can't afford it."

"So you don't heal people anymore?" The girl frowned; she looked even more confused now.

"Actually, I do. I heal Gaara, I heal his siblings, I heal kids who scrape their knees on the streets. And Mai, when she lets me. Anyone who asks, really. Plus I'm still on-call."

"On-call?"

"It means that at any time the hospital can come get me." Fumiko shrugged again, leaning her elbows on the counter and sweeping a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her bangs were getting longer. By now, Masae- that was her name- had slid onto a stool, looking intrigued. "But they haven't yet. I'm their best civilian doctor, not their best doctor."

"Excuse me," someone interrupted, a woman with standard Suna civilian clothes, all sandy colors and shades of brown-tan. "I'd like to talk to you about your..." she glanced at a smaller notepad inn her hand. "Your 'small waves'."

"Oh, yep. Okay. It was nice talking to you, Masae," Fumiko added when the girl began to slide off her stool, sliding her notebook behind the register. "Cookie?"

...

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"You never say no."

"You never disagree with me."

"I never have this much work to do," Gaara muttered.

"Yes you do. You always do."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"I just woke you up from a terror," Fumiko said, not sternly because she was never stern, but with concern. "And you were sleeping on your desk. You need to sleep."

"I meditated already."

"Meditation is only a temporary substitute, Gaara." Fumiko frowned at him. Gaara stared down at the paperwork in front of him, the pile that never seemed to dwindle, the words that were starting to swim across his pages and tap-dance. "You know it doesn't work for very long."

Gaara made a sound in his throat, like a whine or a snort. "I haven't slept in... in..."

"According to Kankuro," Fumiko said, leaning with one arm on the desk- hand splayed over his paperwork so he would stop working on it- the other pulling off his hat. "At least not it the past four weeks. That's a whole month, Gaara."

For some reason, the ANBU gliding about on his ceiling all tensed as she stuck her finger in his face.

He didn't look up, but he did send off some pretty damn stern signals. Fumiko didn't seem to notice the irregular pulses of chakra despite her slight sensitivity- maybe she was just used to it- but the ANBU above him sure did. The careful hostility vanished rather quickly.

"I know. But I..."

"I'll do it. I'll do this for a little bit. Kami knows I know how."

"Fumiko-"

"I don't know. Do you want me to watch over you, keep you from sleeping too deep, or do you want Temari or Kankuro to do it? They have before."

"Ach, Fumiko, I-"

"I don't care if there are ANBU in here, Gaara. They don't wake you up from nightmares. They don't get to judge you."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?"

"When have I ever?" Now she smiled at him, because she knew where this was going.

Gaara sighed, a long, drawn out, admittedly tired sigh, and rubbed one of his eyes with his hand. Then he stood. "I guess this can wait until tomorrow," he muttered.

Fumiko beamed and took his hand almost before he stepped around from the desk, leading him out the door.

As he exited, he could hear the ANBU snickering as they thought he was out of hearing distance. Very quiet, very ninja, Fumiko wouldn't have heard it even with her hearing, but they snickered. They were probably signing to each other. You try fighting someone like her.

But then one of them, probably the rookie ANBU-in-training, the new Rattlesnake, made a sound, a sharp ktchhh! that Gaara recognized. Kankuro had made that sound more than enough times.

Gaara fought the urge to flush and probably failed.

I'll show you whipped, he thought.

There was a carefully cut off yelp from inside, and the scattering of papers off a wooden desk.

Fumiko stopped, alarmed, hand still wrapped around Gaara's wrist. She'd only taken a few steps from the door. "What was that?"

"I think one of my ANBU fell," he said with a straight face. It wasn't a lie in the slightest.

"I'm not allowed to go in and help him, am I?"

"Probably not."

"Ah. Also, I was right. There were ANBU! I wasn't sure that time."

...

Fumiko didn't really mind being stolen.

But she wished the man would have given a little warning before he shunshined away with her.

A man had said, What was the symbolism of this painting? It's gorgeous, and I love that there's one yellow flower in all the red ones.

Fumiko had managed an, Actually, it's not symbolism. That's a dande-"

And then the medic had appeared in a flash of wind and sand, took her arm, greeted, "Fumiko-sama," And politely excused her from the conversation, and then they were warp-running all over the place, colors spinning.

Now they were in the hospital.

"Woah," Fumiko said, blinking rapidly to take in the sudden change of scenery. "Woah, I, head rush-"

"Fumiko-sensei!" Ame cried. "Thank Kami you're here."

...

"What's wrong with him?"

"We don't know. Our medical ninjutsu doesn't fix it." Ame seemed distressed. "They put the best med-nin on it, then they put me, because you taught me more than just medical jutsu, and then we had to find you because I couldn think of anything-"

"It's okay, Ame." Fumiko pulled on her gloves; then up on her mask so it covered her nose and mouth. "Did you run any blood tests yet?" she asked, pulling her hair back with the dark blue bandanna she always kept in her satchel just in case this happened. She'd already discarded her cloak. "Urine samples? Skin?"

"Hai, sensei. I'll get those for you right away."

"Thanks." Fumiko stepped up beside the bed, to the man with the tubes in his mouth and the unusual rashes on his skin, mottled yellow things that looked painful. He was making a strange wheezing sound, like he couldn't breathe, which he couldn't.

She felt over his skin. It was gross even through the gloves, which usually wasn't a good sign.

She snapped her hands into a diagnostic jutsu, closing her first gate, and pulsed it through him. Footsteps as Ame hurried back inside the hospital room with its beeping heart monitor and breathing tubes.

Damage in the liver and the lungs. And his skin, obviously, along with a few other organs. His lungs were the worst, almost shriveled, broken down at almost the cellular level in parts of it, and Fumiko imagined that if she was actually looking at it, it would be darkish and purple like old meat in the market, possibly with sores.

His liver was the same way, only less damage. Skin problems as well...

"Fumiko-sensei," Ame said, "Here."

Fumiko took the clipboard from her. Ame was wearing white now, like a real medic-nin; hair pulled back and hood tight over her skin, hands uncovered for jutsu.

Fumiko scanned the charts over. Her lips pursed. A deficiency in the blood of antitrypsin, but what did that mean? His skin was lesioned, the report said, with the same kind of damage as the rest of his failing organs. But what did antitrypsin have to do with skin and lung problems?

"This lung thing he has is Emphysema, I think," Fumiko said. "Keep the tubes in definitely. Try a blood transfusion, same blood type, two parts antitrypsin to one part saline."

"Saline, though?"

"Something's wrong with his blood, but I'm not sure what it's doing." Fumiko raked a gloved hand through her hair, dislodging the bandanna a little. "Kami, I like stitching things up better than... Ame, can you get me a family tree?"

"A- what?"

"A pedigree."

"Um, possibly."

Fumiko nodded. "Do that, then-"

Suddenly the man started coughing, violently coughing, and something red spurted through his breathing tube, splattering like he'd been stabbed down his neck and gown. Ame and Fumiko both flinched violently. Half a heartbeat, and then Fumiko was in medic-mode.

"Tubes! We need fresh tubes!"

No time for a diagnostic now; she grabbed up an LED mini flashlight and shined it down his throat, hand on his chest so he didn't hurt himself, but he was still coughing, and if they didn't remove the tubes he would drown on his own blood in his lungs-

Fumiko took the tubes out.

Now he couldn't breathe.

Somebody, another medic, shoved new tubes at her, but he was coughing blood, that wouldn't help until he stopped.

Another spurt, only now it was a heave as the man sat up, and snap, snap, Fumiko snapped the fingers of her right hand, left hand on his back, yelling bowl! Bucket! Something!

Somebody shoved a bedpan into her hands and she halfway didn't get it under him before he started puking, and it was red and chunky and disgusting and slimy, and it was getting on his bedsheets and him and Fumiko but also on the pan as well.

Thank Kami she'd taken his tubes out...

Finally, he dry-heaved nothing, finished coughing, and quietly, quickly, she rinsed the blood from his throat with water- he didn't choke on it, Fumiko had prayed don't let him choke on it- And settled him back in and put new tubes in.

Fumiko shined light into his eyes and startled when she realized the whites were stained yellow.

She slid her hands down him, his neck, chest, abdomen- swelling there- arm, wrist, leg- extreme swelling there- other leg- there, too- ankles, feet.

He was shivering by the time she was done, and she said soothing, quiet words, pulling her mask down so he could see her face, helping him change once the danger was gone, it's okay, you're okay, it's fine, you're fine.

Finally he was asleep again and his heart rate went back to normal.

"Lung infection," Fumiko said tiredly, picking up the reports she'd thrown to the floor and giving them back to Ame, and realized she'd been here for three hours. "And something else."

"Sensei?"

"I'm going to do more research." She grimaced. "What's his name?"

"His name is... Tokimune, sensei."

"Tokimune will be transferred under my care, okay? Until further notice, Ame, please put sections two and four-B on his watch, alright? They specialize."

"... Of course, sensei."

"We'll help this guy."

"Hai."

"How long has he been going like this?"

"A few weeks. But he's never thrown up blood like that before."

Fumiko peeled off her gloves without having a place to throw them away. Her hands were now frightfully clean against the angry red, putrid-smelling splatters up her arms like acrylic paint, only now it looked like she'd murdered someone and thrown away the gloves and weapon- the stains started at her wrists where the gloves ended and traveled almost to her elbows.

It felt terrible, slippery and cold and chunky. Drying. And cold.

...

When Kankuro came through the hallway and stopped by his office door, Gaara almost assumed he was going to have to take a break from work and head down to the studio to bring Fumiko home. It was- Gaara looked at the clock on his wall- almost one in the morning, and it had been a few weeks since she'd spaced out.

"Gaara," he called, knocking once on the door before opening it. "I'm coming in."

He didn't close the door or even step all the way into the room. Kankuro stuck only his head in, so Gaara could only see him from the chest up out of the corner of his vision, plus one hand. His hood was crooked, brown hair peeking out from beneath it, and his makeup was washed off. He looked tired.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to let you know, Fumiko's in the kitchen."

"Alright."

"Reading."

"Okay."

"Medical textbooks."

That caught his attention, though only slightly. Just because Fumiko had technically quit her job at the hospital didn't necessarily mean she never studied once in a while. She was a medic. Gaara looked up. "What are you getting at?"

"She's also freaking out."

"What?"

Kankuro only sighed at Gaara's alarm. "I don't know. She's just sitting there muttering to herself. Something about blood vomit and yellow eyes and anti-anti-antitryp-antitryp... Ugh." he scowled. "Anyway she's reading through a really old looking, huge text next to a pile of really old looking, huge textbooks."

"..." Gaara pushed his hat up, leaning back in his chair. "Did you ask why?"

"Yes. And all she said was 'failure in the liver and lungs, lesions, and vomiting blood.' Also, she said 'anti-something deficiency in the blood.'"

"She's treating a patient?" Gaara said with surprise.

"I don't know. Other than symptoms she didn't say a damn word. I got the hell out of dodge before she asked me to help. She's been doing it for about three days now."

"I'll talk to her. You can go to bed if you want."

"It's Mai's fault I'm so tired all the time," Kankuro grumbled as he withdrew, door closing. "Train, train, train. Blah, blah, blah. Stupid baka Kankuro. I wanna work on my puppets, but I'm so tired I'd probably stab my-"

The door clicked shut.

Gaara stared at it bemusedly for a moment before pushing his work away and staring. The only ANBU in the room, Squirrel, nodded to him, gave the signs for shift and over. Gaara nodded back, and Squirrel took two steps before launching out a window.

The funny thing about ANBU was that it ran itself. Sure, Gaara had to approve the new members if they were too young but too gifted, and every once in a while he signed for supplies, but aside from that, it was completely self-reliant.

He didn't know who any of his desert-animal named ANBU agents were.

Gaara switched off the light and closed the door behind him.

...

Kankuro hadn't been exaggerating.

"Symptoms of... no, that's not it... vomiting blood, yellow skin lesions, damage to the liver... ech, not this one either..." Fumiko muttered, finger trailing down a page of tiny kanji from a book bigger than her head in length and width.

"Fumiko?"

"Is it a disease, or a sickness, or genetic..."

"Fumiko."

"... Result of poison or natural...?"

"Fumiko."

"So many to... Gaara?" She blinked up at him in the light of a portable reading lamp, surrounded by dusty old texts, hunched over her reading.

"What are you doing?"

"Research."

"Are you working at the hospital again?"

Fumiko chewed on her lip, eyes drifting back down to her diseases. "I was drafted."

"Have you ever even dealt in disease before?"

"Hemophilia, diseased livers, scombrotoxic fish poisoning once... not so many diseases. Ninja don't get a whole lot of diseases. Sicknesses, yes. Injures, yes. I'm qualified, but there's so little information..."

Gaara eyed the texts. "That looks like plenty of information."

Fumiko pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing at her eyes as she did so. "Name, classification, basic explanations, known symptoms, possible cures but... so many of them look the same."

"Do you have to do this now?" Gaara pulled up a chair and sat down next to her, looking over her shoulder.

Angioimmunoblastic T-cell lymphoma, read one meticulously scribed bullet note. A mature T-cell lymphoma of blood or lymph vessel immunoblasts characterized by a polymorphous lymph node infiltrate showing a marked increase in follicular dendritic cells (FDCs) and high endothelial venules (HEVs) and systemic involvement. It is also known as immunoblastic lymphadenopathy. Symptoms include...

"Did you say basic?" he muttered.

Fumiko pursed her lips, biting hard, and that's when Gaara knew he'd said the wrong things. "Yes, I have to do this now. He's dying."

...

Hours and hours and hours later, the sun was coming up.

Gaara was helping her now, tirelessly flipping page after page after page of complicated medical text. All he knew to look for was the symptoms, and anything involving an antitrypsin deficiency.

Fumiko herself was on her third textbook, a huge feat for the short amount of time she'd been provided.

"If we don't figure out what's wrong with him soon... we think he's going to die, maybe this month, or the next."

"When one or both of his lungs finally collapse, right?" Fumiko chewed her lip, staring at the files and the records. "Can't we do, I don't know, a lung transplant, or something?"

"We could and we will," Ame murmured. "But if we don't know what's wrong with him, it could happen again to the new lung, not to mention the complications it could create with rejection of the tissue."

"So what you're saying is..."

"If we don't figure it out in the next couple weeks and fix it, we shouldn't give him a new lung at all." Ame shivered. "It would be... it would be cruel."

Yellowing of the eyes, but no mention of coughing up blood. Not that one.

Liver collapse, but nothing about the lungs, or the swelling with fluids. Not that one either.

Coughing and vomiting up blood, but none of the other effects...

Not that one, either.

I've got three weeks, Fumiko thought, Tops, before he needs a new lung.

"You said antitrypsin, right?"

Fumiko started, looking up. "Yeah?"

Gaara had his fingernail on something, a line she couldn't make out from across the table, squinting at it. "Do you know anything about something called Alpha-one antitrypsin deficiency?"

"What? No."

He pushed the book over to her, turning it around, and pointed. "Here."

A genetic disorder that causes defective production of alpha-1 antitrypsin (A1AT), leading to decreased A1AT activity in the blood and lungs, and deposition of excessive abnormal A1AT protein in liver cells.

Fumiko laughed, not quite like something was funny. "It was in the name. For crying out... Genetic, huh? I need to get that pedigree from Ame to make sure, but..."

She stood, picking up the book.

Gaara stood as well. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to go run tests."

"What? But it's-"

"Eight. It's eight. They're open. Perfectly normal time to bug them."

Fumiko didn't feel particularly tired. She'd only stayed up for two nights, she'd done much more than that before. Gaara looked fine as well, he'd slept half a night a week prior, which was fine for him.

"Oh. Is it?"

"You can go back to work, Gaara," Fumiko said, dog-earing the page twice so it wouldn't crush flat, then closing the book. She tucked it under her arm. "You've been helping me for hours."

"Yes, but..."

Fumiko smiled, stepped over and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Thanks. A lot."

"Sure, but are you certain-?"

She laughed. A real laugh this time, almost shaky with relief. "I haven't ever lost a patient before," she admitted. "I'm not gonna start now."

"Alright." Gaara nodded.

...

"Do you have any relatives?"

"Yes." Tokimune's voice was raspy.

"Are any of them ninja?"

"Al-most all of them are. I am. Why?"

Fumiko smiled. Tokimune certainly was a ninja- unless he was spasming, he hated being touched unexpectedly, was suspicious to all questions, and ate the food without a single complaint. "We just need to run through their IDs, see how many if not all of them are organ donors."

"So that nurse was-n't lying, then."

"I'm afraid not." Fumiko finished taping in the IV. "You're going to need a lung transplant after all. Also, Ame's not a nurse. She's a doctor."

"So you're waiting for someone to die?"

She sighed. "Yes. We've already scanned through every donor report that matches you, but it's still better to wait for... a blood relative. There's a smaller chance of rejection."

"So?"

"So you'll probably have to wait for a few months. Nearly all of our donors are ninja, and... uh..."

"It's only a matter of time, right?"

Fumiko smiled more gently. "Yeah."

"And what does this mean for me? I'm staying in this damned hos-pital with a breathing tube in my thr-oat for a few months?"

"It means a couple of things." Fumiko picked up her clipboard from the nightstand, pulled the pencil out of the clasp, and started jotting things down. "Along with bed rest, you'll also need alpha-one antitrypsin infusions once every two or three weeks. And..."

"And?"

"Shorter life expectancy... mandatory emergency steroid inhaler that you should carry around with you..." Fumiko was stalling. She hated this part.

The ninja noticed. "That it?"

"Um..." Fumiko sighed. Her pencil stilled. "And you'll be retired from active duty."

"Retired from-" Tokimune started to cough.

"Tokimune!"

...

Okay, now she was tired.

Fumiko fumbled the door of her studio, and realized it was unlocked. "Sugar."

Of course it was unlocked. She'd been stolen a week ago during the day. Of course it was. And she had completely forgotten about it.

She opened the door, and was greeted with two sleepy faces. The third was passed out on a bundle of tarp in the corner.

"You," Fumiko said with surprise.

Tadashi flinched so badly he almost threw a kunai at her, jolting out of a dazed doze. Naoki, faster and slightly more alert, threw a shuriken, and they clanged off each other midair, clattering harmlessly to the ground inches from her foot.

"Good... good.. good..." Tadashi tried to say, but then slumped back into his partner.

"Ach, I knew he wouldn't make the next shift." Naoki muttered, then finally seemed to realize she was there, staring at them. "Hi, Fumiko-san. We were-" he yawned- "Watching the store for you."

"Oh?"

"After you disappeared, a few people called for help. Someone checked the hospital and found out you were there." He shrugged. "My team wanted to... I mean, Shunichi wanted to... watch it."

"Why didn't you lock up?"

Naoki shrugged again. "We didn't know where to find a key and we couldn't leave it unlocked."

"But I was gone for a week."

"And we've been here for a week. Taking shifts."

In truth, all of them- so far as she could tell, Shunichi had his back to her and was snoring- had exhaustion rings under their eyes.

"Oh sugar." A pause. "I'm sorry... I completely forgot about-"

Tadashi jolted again, looked around wildly, saw her, waved, and fell back asleep.

Naoki smiled sheepishly. "Our jonin-sensei came by to check on us a couple of times. Said it was good sleep-deprivation practice."

...

It had been more than a week, now that Fumiko thought about it, as she waved after them. They had left, full of cookies and finally awake, for home.

Three days researching. Four days at the hospital stabilizing Tokimune and explaining the situation. Right before she left the forth day, she was asked to help with a little boy who'd been lost in the desert during a sandstorm, since she was the best with kids.

At least she'd shown up early morning on their eighth day of watch.

Fumiko opened her store again- she had so many commissions to get started on, at least six, and she didn't want to let that Genin kunoichi down.

For the rest of the day she painted feverishly, trying to catch up. The normal crowd trickled in, asked about her disappearance, then settled in to watch.

It stayed like that until after hours. Finally, the last of the watchers and buyers and hanging-outers left, Fumiko turned over the open sign, locked the doors, and finally (now that she had time) pulled out her weapon schematics.

...

Yellow light from the light bulbs high above her head faintly illuminated her work. Fumiko was sitting on the floor, an oil lantern beside her that casted flickery light across her skin, surrounded by wood shavings. The studio was empty- it was somewhere around midnight, after all, or maybe three, but she wasn't tired enough yet to go home. The CLOSED sign was flipped around, and all the doors were locked.

It was nice here at night- with a dim kind of moonlit spotlight shining in through the tiny windows set nearer to the ceiling, and the sounds of nighttime ringing and clanging outside: late night vendors calling out to shadows, animals digging through garbage cans, and the heavy sound of the carving knife. Usually it would be careful brushstrokes filling up the silence, but for now she was pawing through some old notes for a more suitable weapon.

The air was hot, dry, and smelled pleasantly of chocolate- in the back room baking in the little wood fire oven chocolate chip cookies were almost done. Hopefully she would be able to get them back to the Tower in one piece, but she supposed that either way a cookie was a cookie, even if it was slightly crushed from falling on it.

Fumiko hummed loudly to herself, a lively tune that seemed to echo through the studio and bounce back. She carved out another chunk of bamboo and bent back slightly to glance over her notes again- a few more cuts and she would have the right dimensions.

Where she was going to find a chain thin and strong enough to work was another question entirely... but she would figure it out eventually. Probably.

"Neeh." She mumbled slightly, frowning at her cut thumb. Then she shrugged and sucked on it, brushing the chips off her lap, putting the bamboo Bo staff aside and pushing herself to her feet carefully. "I need my other notes..."

A loud trill made her jump, but Fumiko laughed slightly when she realized it was just the timer for the cookies. She licked at her injured thumb one more time before trotting into the back room to poke at her pastries.

...

Satomi didn't know what irritated her more: Hidan and his never-ending attempts to convert her over to Jashinism, or the perpetually bland sandy color of this perpetually bland... place.

Satomi wasn't exactly sure where she was. She realized, of course, that she was in some sort of desert, but the specifics were lost on her. She did know, however, that if she had stayed in the stupid cloak-nins' lair any longer, she would have lost it. And that was good for neither their health or hers.

Satomi was usually an extremely patient person, but someone could only take so much of the same repetitive arguments between two artists whose art styles were polar opposites, a religious nut who was always trying to convert her to killing people- and become immortal, apparently, which Satomi was sure was pretty impossible for her to do, due to her... unusual circumstances- and thus, before she completely exploded- on everybody- she had teleported.

To... here.

Wherever 'here' was.

She swore that the only sane person in the entire organization was Itachi-san. Satomi knew there was something a little off about him- compared to the other members, he didn't seem to have... Well... That air about him. She didn't really know how to describe it, but Itachi-san seemed almost... Uncomfortable.

Suddenly, something that wasn't completely monochromatically sandy caught her eye- an art studio of some kind, it seemed, one that didn't actually pertain to making puppets out of humans or blowing up buildings.

She stopped, staring at the large building whose windows were plastered with brightly colored and darkly toned paintings and drawings. Satomi was pretty much praising every deity she knew of- even Jashin-sama- as she teleported through the locked doors to get out of the dry, sandy air that stung her skin.

Inside, lights were shining brightly from the ceiling. Satomi blinked, taking in the sudden splashes of color and light.

A few were vaguely familiar, with huge trees and fluttering leaves distorted with interesting, weird colors warped with different tones of daylight and shadows. Many of them were of Suna itself, it's wide sunset and sunrise, the dunes and rounded buildings that compiled it.

Many things were random- full rolling clouds against deep blue skies that seemed to make shapes and shift across the canvas, animals, people carrying on with their normal business on busy Suna streets. Shimmering mirages in different styles, some were realistic and some blurred so that you almost had to squint your eyes to see it clearly, others sparkled with glittery paint and others had textures like...

... was there real sand in that painting?

Either way, the towering walls of the place were littered with different sized and shaped images of a thousand different things. Some were black and white, some painted and some penciled, others still drying or half-finished on one of the many easels that scattered across the main floor.

Off to Satomi's right was something that looked like a counter, like for a store, but with random stools and chairs around it. If she didn't know better, Satomi would say it belonged in a bar- made for strangers and enjoyed by strangers.

All over the place there were bits of equipment: shoved into the far right corner was paint-stained tarp, over there by the wall there were stacks of paint cans, nearest to her so that she was almost stepping on them there were piles of as of yet unused canvases.

In the middle of the floor, oddly enough, there was a Bo staff- at least that's what it looked like- resting in a small pile of wood shavings. Next to that was a small carving knife, all abandoned, perhaps until the next day...

A door creaked open somewhere on Satomi's immediate left: one she hadn't seen before but was apparently the entrance to some sort of storeroom.

Oh, right, she thought suddenly, as she took in the turned on lights and the half finished project on the floor. I just broke into somebody's art studio. That's illegal.

Before she could phase away, there was a sound like humming or gentle singing, pleasant if not a little off-tune. From behind the door emerged the figure of a girl- her back was turned to Satomi, she was using it to push open the door, balancing something in her hands.

Brown eyes- that was the first thing Satomi noticed when the girl finally turned around. In her hands she held a plate of still steaming cookies. Brown hair was the second- perfectly straight all the way down to just above mid-back, bangs curling slightly above her eyes. She wore a brown-tan hoodless cloak that fell to just past her knees, with a turtleneck sleeveless white shirt underneath, and plain black shorts. Her arms and face were smeared with gray- the same gray as the storm cloud painting drying on an easel.

The most noticeable thing, of course, was the half metal, half wood prosthetic taking up what used to be a thigh and foot, curved like a hook at the bottom. She had a thin face, flat-chested and small, but still smiling for a moment before noticing her.

The door closed behind her as she blinked at Satomi. Satomi, having realized she was caught, was about to explain. "Uh..."

"Hi!" The girl suddenly chirped.

Satomi's first thought of the stranger was: she's totally mental. I could have been trying to kill her.

"Um... Hello?" Satomi said hesitantly. "I can explain..."

The brown-eyed girl beamed at her suddenly, holding out the plate. "I just made cookies," she said cheerfully. "They're chocolate chip. Do you want some?"

Satomi managed a completely blank face for a couple of seconds. "... Yes."

...

The stranger seemed nice enough.

True, Fumiko hadn't been expecting to see her- or anyone- in the studio looking at all her paintings, but she had sweets on hand and had been alone all night, so why not make a new friend?

The girl- probably older than herself, Fumiko guessed- had pale, pale skin like a china doll, with dark red hair like Gaara's under shadows, set into her brooding face that fell to her lower back. Suspicious, onyx black eyes peered at her curiously, half-hidden by red.

She wore a pure black untied haori with white trims, under which was a seemingly sleeveless eggshell white top tied off in the middle. Underneath those, white bandages peeked out at her chest, and she wore a pair of long, tapering dark blue pants that ended just past her knees.

Her sandals were interesting, wooden like ordinary nobles' sandals, except that the bottoms seemed to be lined with metal. They made an odd clacking noise against the tiled floors as she turned to look at her in surprise.

Fumiko made sure to keep the large plate balanced and walked past her, toward the counter, where she laid the dish down and wiped her hands on her shorts. "So, I didn't make anything other than chocolate chip," she said. "But help yourself."

"Um... Thank you. You're... Particularly nice for someone who just had their studio broken into." A pause. "Which is illegal," she added.

Fumiko laughed. "Ne, you were just looking at my paintings. Besides, everything in here I can replace with more arts. I'm Mitsuwa Fumiko."

Satomi's face softened just slightly. "My name is Shometsu Satomi," she answered. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, me too! I mean, um, pleasure to meet you too. Or was it, the pleasure's all mine?" Fumiko thought for a minute, then shrugged. "Saa, come sit down. You look kinda tired. I'll go get us some milk or something. Is milk okay?"

"Uh, yes, that would be... Fine. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Fumiko grinned at her, then scurried back into the back room to her ice-filled mini fridge to pull out the gallon of milk. She wondered if she should make it Maple, and remembered the slight stress lines in Satomi's expression.

She grabbed the other ingredient, too, and quickly mixed up two tall plastic cups with it.

...

Satomi had never been in such an awkward position before in her entire life- and she had been in a lot of awkward positions. Satomi was also pretty sure that she had never met a sweeter girl than Fumiko.

Completely trusting, not seen to often in this world- for good reason. Satomi just hoped that she had somebody looking out for her. In a shinobi world like this that kind of trust wouldn't last long.

If only more people in this world were as kind as this young girl, then perhaps Satomi would be able to live in her village in peace. Alas, this was her duty. Though, Satomi couldn't help but ponder the strange chakra that clung to this girl.

Aside from the sweet blue chakra signature like water that belonged to the small girl, there was also something... else. The residue of something dark bluish-red in signature, and beyond that... Something that made her want to recoil. Something angry. Though, it did seem slightly familiar.

Not to her, though. Probably to one of her Pasts. She'd ask later.

Satomi was pulled from her thoughts as the door creaked again. "Okay, so this is a thing I call Maple Milk," Fumiko said conversationally as she clunked it down in front of Satomi and then plunked into a seat across the counter, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. "It's 'ood, I pwomise," she said, mouth full. "Gaawa says iss 'ood for stress."

Satomi blinked. "I understood almost everything you said," she stated questioningly. "Except for... 'Gaawa'."

Fumiko swallowed. She took a big gulp of... maple milk?... before answering. "Gaara's my friend. Uh... Boyfriend." She smiled hugely. "He's the Kazekage of Sunagakure."

"I know that Suna is one of the many shinobi Hidden Villages," Satomi said, "but what is a Kazekage?"

"Y'know, like Hokage, Mizukage, Tsuchikage, Raikage..." She laughed a little at Satomi's confused expression. "It means Wind Shadow. He's like... The leader of Suna. The fifth one," she added.

"Hn. So how does one become the Kazekage?" she asked. "Is it by a monarchy, or something else?"

Fumiko blinked at her in surprise, tilting her head slightly. "Nope, although Gaara's father was the Fourth," she said. "It's a voting system. Being a Kage means you're considered the strongest kunoichi or shinobi in that respective country. Where are you from, anyway?"

"Oh, you know..." Satomi said uncomfortably, glancing away for a moment. "Places. Although, Gaara is similar to me in that regard. I am the strongest in my village as well."

"Not just the village," Fumiko said excitedly, downing another cookie. "He's pretty much the strongest person in Wind Country. But that's really cool, Satomi. I bet it's awesome being the strongest! At least, that's what Mai says. Personally I don't like fighting much."

"Well, that is something we have in common." Satomi smiled. "I myself avoid fighting if at all possible."

Fumiko knocked her prosthetic against the wooden counter, probably unintentionally. "But you're still a shinobi, if you don't like fighting?" She asked curiously. "Or are you a Samurai, since you use kenjutsu?"

"I'd be closer to that of a samurai, though I do know a few of these shinobi arts." Satomi frowned. "But how do you figure I'm a kenjutsu user?"

"My little sister uses Tanto blades," Fumiko replied, reaching for another cookie. "Are you going to eat any? Your arms are super wiry like hers, but I think you wear yours on your back. Not sure where it is now, though..."

"Ah, well, I don't actually carry it with me. Well, I do, but not in this plane of existence. I could show you, if you want."

"Ooh, yes please."

Satomi stood. She reached out an arm, fingers clawed out, and concentrated. Piece by piece her familiar jet black blade materialized, particles not bigger than cinders from a fireplace pulling together so that it looked like she was drawing a sword from nothing.

Hers was a five foot long wickedly sharp blade hilted with iron, the tip pointed at the ground. Her fingers instinctively clutched around the handle- usually when she summoned her sword it was for battle, not showing off.

"Woah..." Fumiko yipped, then skittered around the counter to approach her. Cautiously, she reached out her forefinger to poke it. "Sugar, it's the biggest sword I've ever- wait, no... Um... Third biggest," she amended. "But, how do you carry it everywhere?"

"Well, just as I showed you. It's not here. I can just call upon it."

With just as little effort as it took to call it forward, Satomi sent it back. The sword scattered into pieces. Fumiko reached out one hand, touching one two-dimensional section for just a second before it vanished.

"Sweet," she said happily. "Oh, hey, I'm eating them all," she exclaimed, noticing the cookie still in her hand- and now slightly crushed- turning and grabbing up a new one. "Here!"

"Okay. Um..." Satomi began to munch on what she assumed to be probably the sixth or seventh cookie, or maybe hundredth, of the batch. Usually, she didn't really like sweet things- and in fact preferred cucumber rolls- but these were really, really good.

Just then, the main door clicked as somebody unlocked it. Fumiko looked entirely unconcerned, smiling at the door even before it had opened.

"Gaara!"

"Fumiko?" A low, almost gravelly voice asked. A boy with red hair a little lighter than hers stepped into the building. "You never came back. Is everything alright? I sensed-"

The air seemed to tense. Satomi stared, unaware of the cookie now hanging out of her mouth, as the younger boy glanced her way.

Pale skin like hers, only his eyes were ringed with black lines of exhaustion, and there was a starkly red kanji for Love stamped onto his forehead. Who Satomi assumed had to be Gaara stiffened suddenly, and stared right back.

She recognized the chakra signature to be the same one as the extra clinging to her new friend's body. The softer, blue-red chakra mixed with the darker, harsher, desert colored yellow power.

...

Gaara wasn't sure who this stranger was, or why she was in here when the outer doors were still locked, or why there was a chocolate chip cookie dangling from her mouth, but whoever she was, Gaara didn't like her chakra.

Neither did Shukaku.

It was the oddest thing. Normally one person has a certain type and feel of chakra, but this girl's was like three hundred of Fumiko paintings smashed to pieces in a river, rushing and colorful and mixing, like...

Like a lot of people.

"Hey, Gaara, this is Satomi," Fumiko said.

"Satomi?"

"Yep. She was looking at my paintings and stuff," Fumiko said, automatically waving her hand behind her spastically at the works in the room. "And she can summon cool swords like a samurai."

"Hello." Satomi said politely. "I've heard a lot of nice things about you from your girlfriend. I hope you take really good care of her, she's a really sweet girl."

"Samurai?" Gaara repeated, surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait. How did you get in here if Fumiko didn't unlock the door?"

Satomi's eyes crinkled a bit in amusement, like she knew something they didn't. "Goodbye, Fumiko," she said, and then vanished, tiny black pieces pulling themselves apart into a hazy black cloud, then before Gaara could react, she was gone.

"Huh," Fumiko said. "I didn't know she could do that."

...

Two months before her Genin graduation exam, Mai vanished.

Like really vanished. Disappeared. Poofed without a trace. Fumiko couldn't find her anywhere, not at home or at the training fields or in the Tower or anywhere else in the city.

All of her ninja equipment were gone, except for her Academy-regulation Tanto-blades, which had been left behind in the arena. Mai's clothes were gone, along with one deflated punching bag, her training weights and bandages. Everything gone, including the pack their mother had gotten her for future missions.

Her parents didn't know where she was. Her Academy sensei didn't know where she was. Kankuro didn't know where she was.

Gaara told her not to worry about it.

When questioned further, he only got that pained look and said he wasn't allowed to tell her.

Fumiko had let it drop.

But she didn't stop looking.

...

The bats didn't like her very much.

The few she'd managed to summon, anyway.

Fumiko, for the hundredth time, bit her thumb, made the signs, and slammed her palm on the ground. Blood kanji bloomed under her hands, there was a pop of chakra smoke, and then, there was a bat.

Maybe the size of her head, this was usually the only one Fumiko managed to summon. Once she'd managed to summon a bat bigger than her named Shaapu, but he had literally spat in her face before disappearing again.

This one, Yamabiko, glared at her distastefully, but didn't have the strength yet to un-summon himself. "What do you want, sightseer?"

Sightseer. Fumiko got the feeling somehow that that was an insult of epic proportions to the bats, because they always called her that when she annoyed them. Probably because they were all blind.

"I'm just training." Fumiko said. "And trying to get you to like me, Yamabiko."

"Fat chance." He hissed discontentedly. "Our summoning scroll was hidden away for years. You're the only living summoner, and now you think you can summon us whenever you feel like it."

"That's not it at all. I just like bats."

"And we're cute too, right?" he grumbled. "Yeah, you say it every time, sightseer."

...

Cutting people open was always the worst part. After that, instinct took over.

"Tsuchi, bring over the donor lung," Fumiko said. Her voice was muffled slightly from the mask. "Everything's clear. Anki?"

Anki, Sunagakure hospital's only anesthesiologist, nodded. "His vitals are good."

Tsuchikage came over with the organ box, which was less like a box and more like a container lined with chakra-enhanced synthetic tissue to simulate a sterile human environment.

Carefully Fumiko cut the vessels to the one lung they were certain couldn't be saved, the right one, and after nearly three hours or so, placed it in a disposal bag, grimacing. She had been right- that particular lung was grey in color and plagued with sores. The other was only slightly discolored in a few places.

Tsuchi helped to attach the new lung, the two of them carefully connecting the blood vessels and then the open airways. The bright lights were hot on Fumiko's neck, her hair in a thick, tight bun now instead of a ponytail to prevent any and all chance of it interfering with the surgery. For once she was wearing sterilized green scrubs.

Fumiko had never actually performed a lung surgery before. But she had been trained to do so in multiple genjutsu-base training exercises that were mandatory for all surgery-cleared hospital employees.

Finally they were done, and Fumiko's gloves her stained red, and she carefully shifted the ribs from where they had been separated back into place, and sutured the open wound with a needle and medical thread.

When finally they were finished- the procedure had taken almost five hours in total according to the clock- Fumiko activated two type-three anti-inflammation seals of her own design, and together her and Tsuchi bandaged it.

"Done," Fumiko said. "Anti, please, would you tell Ame to set up a room in the ICU for him, and to stock several doses of alpha-one antitrypsin diffusion for immediate use, and to order more as soon as possible?"

"Hai, Fumiko-san. Of course."

...

No more than nine days later, Tokimune was awake and griping that he had to stay in the hospital for another six days for examination.

...

Fumiko's eyes flickered, and she tried to keep them closed, clinging to the remnants of her dream, but sleep escaped her, and she couldn't.

And the moon was out.

Fumiko grunted and untangled her arms from the blanket long enough so that she could wipe at her sleepy eyes. Then she shivered and shoved them back in.

it was cold. It always was, at night. She was reluctant to leave the warmth of her comfy bed, but so far as she knew, the only time she ever woke up randomly in the middle of the night before a dream had ended always had the same reason.

She wrapped the thinner blanket- the quilt- around her shoulders before sitting all the way up. Fumiko leaned down to grab her prosthetic and sock, and after she connected it, put one bare foot on the cold ground and stood, yawning.

Sleepily she made her way down the hall in Gaara's old long sleeved shirt and her fluffy pants, wrapped in a quilt and without shoes, prosthetic loudly clacking on the floor. Her hair was still wildly smashed to one side.

Fumiko climbed the steps to the siblings' level, keeping a careful hold on the railing- because it was dark and if she wasn't careful she would trip and go down the stairs the hard way- but still clutching at her quilt like her cloak.

Down the hall, past Temari's room- silent- and Kankuro's- he was snoring- to Gaara's room. Her foot was frozen now with cold, as was her face, but the rest of her was covered.

Opened the door, slowly in case he was already awake and terrified and was about ready to stab anything that moved.

There was a quiet, rasping choking noise.

No. Still asleep.

Carefully she stepped in, not bothering to be quiet since she was going to wake him up anyway, and made her way through the random dark stains of small sand dunes surrounding his bed.

Gaara was whimpering quietly, face twisted, curled into himself in the fetal position. His blanket was gone, kicked off the bed, and he was shivering from cold and fear. He wasn't crying yet, which meant he wasn't too far into it.

Fumiko shook his shoulder. "Gaara."

Nothing. More whimpering.

"Gaara."

Fumiko rubbed at his back. "Gaara!"

He jolted, flinching harshly enough that his feet kicked out over the edge of the bed and almost nailed her thigh, but she moved nimbly out of the way, half expecting it. Then his eyes flickered open, bloodshot and red, face bright with adrenaline-blush, breathing hard, and he sat up quickly.

"Gah!"

"It's okay," Fumiko said gently. "You were dreaming. Just dreaming. I'm here."

Gaara looked at her with wide, frightened deer-eyes, and reached out like a child searching for comfort, halting and jerky.

Fumiko let herself be held too tightly, rubbed his back and murmured things to him. She could feel his erratic heartbeat on her collarbone, and the wetness on his face on her ear. "F-Fu-fu-" he stuttered.

"It's okay. I'm right here."

Gaara shuddered. Fumiko knew he wouldn't be able to remember his dream- they were less like dreams and more like extreme pulses of pure terror that his feverish brain tried to explain with images.

His voice was unfocused and squeezed. His head was starting to move from side to side, like he was shaking his head no. "I- I- I-" he sounded confused as he tried to recall- "You- you were- I-... I can't remember."

"That's okay."

"Okay," he said weakly, and Fumiko couldn't tell if he was agreeing with her or simply repeating the word. "Okay. Fumiko."

"Yeah," she said. "Okay. You okay?"

He nodded a little bit against her chest. His ragged breathing was slowing. Years ago, if this had happened, he would have jerked away, apologized for waking her up. Now he just held her tighter.

Fumiko continued to rub his back until he let go.

When he did, he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, then dropped both hands into his lap. "Damn. Damn it. I hate this."

Fumiko sat on the bed, Gaara moved over to make room and she scooted closer, leaning down to look at his face, which was low as he stared at his hands. "I know you do. But there's nothing we can do about it."

"I know that. Ugh... I just wish..."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Lie down again."

Gaara glanced at her sideways for a second before complying. Fumiko leaned forward and crawled to the edge of the bed, looked over it to see the blob of red fabric, and reached down to pull the blanket back up.

"I can't go to sleep again."

"I know." Fumiko smiled. "But we can just... rest."

Fumiko lied down next to him and pulled the covers over them both. She didn't bother taking her prosthetic off.

It had been a while since the two of them had had the chance to just meditate together side by side. Well, less like a chance and more like a need. Usually after she woke him up from terrors, they would either talk, or she would paint his kanji, or Gaara would go back to work and she would go back to bed.

Fumiko closed her eyes and let the world go.

...

Fumiko rubbed her eyes, trailing the quilt behind her like a child with a doll. She walked across the hard, cold floor, with a slipper made of silk this time, so it wasn't as bad. But her face was still cold.

She opened Gaara's door.

Crying already this time.

Fumiko woke him up with soft words, held him until the tears stopped, and then climbed into the bed, this time to just talk and not meditate since he had slept for more than half the night. They still lied down under the covers though.

Sleep or not, it was cold.

This was happening more and more often. Waking up in the middle of the night, Gaara having a terror. Weeks of him not even going into his room for fear of them. Fumiko could only guess that as Gaara got older, the lack of sleep caught up to him more and more. After all, it was happening to her too- Fumiko could stay awake for one, maybe two weeks straight with meditation, but now more than ever if she lied down anywhere, it was impossible to tell when she was going to fall asleep. Half the time she didn't even feel tired when her body gave out.

It was getting harder though, walking up a flight of stairs every other week. The last time, Gaara had nearly taken her head off with a baseball-sized lump of sand when she opened the door. His chakra sense- along with all his other senses- were always a bit wonky after a nightmare.

"Hey, Gaara," she said after a time of useless conversation about clay and the uses of it. "This night thing of yours... The terrors are getting worse, aren't they?"

Gaara sighed. "Yes. I think so."

"This is working for now, but what if the next time I wake some visiting royal or you really do impale me or I take too long and you start growing sand again, like you did that one time?"

Gaara didn't fidget when he got anxious or agitated. If anything he became even more statue-still, more rigid. (He only fidgeted when he was embarrassed. There was a difference.) Now he stilled again, staring hard at the ceiling. "I don't know. I would ask you not to worry about it next time, but..."

"But Shukaku," Fumiko said.

"Yeah. Him."

"What if..." Her mouth was moving faster than her brain; she had a thread of an idea but didn't know what it was yet. "What if..."

Gaara waited, watching her face.

Didn't people talk about this kind of thing? About couples living in the same room? Ninja usually did that more than civilians before any kind of marriage; they were more inclined to be possessive/protective. Most ninja made it a point not to fall in love at all.

"What if we got a room together?"

...

"We still have to live on the main floor," Gaara muttered. He had thought he'd been embarrassed over the idea of her moving into his house, but this was a whole different matter. "I can't stay in the guest rooms as Kazekage."

"Well..."

"What?"

"What about..." She hesitated, mulling something over, weighing it. Which was strange in itself, because usually Fumiko didn't care what she said. "What about the Kazekage suite?"

Gaara stared at her, wordless. His father's old room? His father's room that would still have the Fourth Kazekage's robes and clothes, that would still have the picture of Karura who had hated him in life on the nightstand, that would still have the tall, regal mirror probably covered in dust by now that used to intimidate him so much.

The thing about Suna was that it didn't like to grieve. Grieving was useless. But it was also human. The shinobi in it tended to completely avoid the situation instead- never cleaning out the dead person's room or office, never finishing his paperwork, never, never...

Would he end up like that?

He shook his head. No, people would mourn, and if it wasn't his subjects it would be Naruto, or Fumiko, maybe even his siblings, if they ever broke free of their trained conditioning.

"Gaara?"

"Okay," he said, voice a whisper. "But I can't..."

"I'll clean it first," Fumiko promised. "But, Gaara, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can use the room you have now."

"It's too small," Gaara said reasonably, throat tight.

"You're the Kazekage now," Fumiko said. Her voice was hard to discern, not quite soft but not happy, either. "Not the Fourth Kazekage. The Fifth. People will call you that long after we're both gone. 'The Fifth was like this' 'The Fifth did this'. They might not know you as Gaara, but they won't compare you to him."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"... Yes."

Fumiko searched his eyes for a moment, then smiled. "Okay."

...

"Here we go again," Fumiko said cheerfully, gazing around her new-old room, full of empty boxes and not anywhere near cleared out. "At least there aren't any paintings to pack. But what am I gonna do about the paint on the floor?"

It was things like this- little things too, moving or eating chili or training- that made her wonder and worry once more about Mai's disappearance. She hadn't found her younger sister anywhere. Otherwise she would be here, helping to pack...

Fumiko shook her head to dislodge the thought, turning her attention once more to the bedroom. Gaara was working again, he had to enlist the help of his siblings to move his things for him.

Fumiko slid the roll of duct tape on her left wrist like a bracelet, then started in on her clothes.

...

When Kankuro saw her again, she was in the middle of dismantling her bed, and was knee-deep in wood and metal springs. He was supposed to be on the floor above her moving Gaara's stuff a few doors over, but maybe he was just checking in to see if she was done yet.

Either way, Fumiko managed to sense him seconds before he opened the door.

"Fumiko, I forget, did you and Gaara want to put the extra stuff in the basement or- what are you doing?"

"Taking apart the bed."

"Why?"

"So it's easier to move."

"... Are you going to be able to put that back together again?"

"Of course. I've done it before."

"Oh." He paused. "Um, so did you and Gaara-"

"The sub level storage basement. That way if we need anything we can take it back out again, and if we decide to get rid of something later we can."

"... Right." Kankuro hesitated, glancing over the half-empty room and the half-filled piles of boxes, the mess of wood and blankets and boxes and clothes and board games. "Hey, did you ever find anything out about Mai?"

"Only that she left her blades behind and took everything else with her. Even mom and dad don't know where she is. She just left."

"Which is so weird." Kankuro shook his head. "She's not a runner."

"No, she's not," Fumiko agreed. "But I don't think she's running from anything, Kankuro."

...

"What about here?" Fumiko tapped the sketch with her pencil's eraser. "That way these could go here."

"We don't actually have a lot of things," Gaara observed. "The room will still be mostly empty around here."

Fumiko laughed. "We both have a dresser and a bed, I have a TV, a coat rack, a bunch of blankets and a trunk, you have a little shelf-case and a desk, we both have miscellaneous stuff we can put in the closet or the shelf or the dressers, and clothes. In a room this big, we won't have to put much in storage except for the beds, because you got a bigger one, right?"

"Right."

Fumiko had finished cleaning out the bedroom. She had gotten rid of the mirror and hidden the picture of Gaara's mother and given the robes to the Council of advisors. There was nothing to do with his father's clothes but throw them away.

But she had vacuumed and aired out the dust, hauled out random antique looking furniture, swept the tiled bathrooms, and pulled musty old hoarded things from the closet. She'd also cleaned the windows.

"The good news is that the sand that follows you will probably end up in all this empty stuff intend on on top of things."

"I wonder if it will ever stop doing that," Gaara said.

"I doubt it. Sand loves you."

"That's weird."

She pecked him on the nose and grinned. "You're weird."

...

The new room looked good.

There was a new queen sized bed with a soft blue comforter and pillows. At the foot of the bed sat Fumiko's trunk, with kanji paints and board games inside. The curtains were red, as were the rugs in the bathroom. The windows were similar to the windows in Gaara's office; multiple windows spanning the length of the wall.

To the far end directly left of the door sat Gaara's desk, already full of pencils and paper and inks and calligraphy brushes and a lamp. To the right, against the far wall, sat both of their dressers side by side, which looked strange.

Her dresser had a mirror attached and the wood was a lighter shade than Gaara's. Gaara's dresser had no mirror, was wider than hers and with dark brown stain. On hers sat her and Gaara's framed graduation picture that she had taken; on Gaara's, Fumiko's framed graduation picture (of her in her partially multicolor stained gown and pallet cap standing with Gaara) taken by her mother.

The bathroom had one full size shower-slash-bathtub with a rounded counter that fit the half moon shape of the room, with two sinks, various cabinets, and four separate mirrors cut and put as closely together as possible to maintain the curve. The door to the bathroom was, form the door to the bedroom, in the top left corner.

The closet- bigger than any Fumiko had ever seen- had two sets of bars stuffed with coat hangers of their clothes, along with small, low to the ground shelves for shoes and a few of Fumiko's spare prosthetics. There was a messy pile of folded blankets in the back, and behind that, a crate with canvas and one lone easel.

Between the closet and bathroom doors was the TV, mounted on Gaara's mini-bookshelf, which was full of movies.

On either side of the bed- running lengthwise across the windowed wall at the top right- was a nightstand. These were identical, squat dark brown things with one drawer each. Fumiko's had paints in the drawer. On it was a lamp, a picture of her and Mai and feed for Asuka underneath it.

Gaara's was more simply covered: a misplaced stack of paper, his shinobi pouch in the drawer, and his gourd leaning up against it.

To the immediate right of the door was Fumiko's handmade spare wood coatrack that still hadn't fallen apart despite how long she had had it.

The floors were bare, because both of them knew better than to put down a carpet only to eventually have it covered up by sand.

It had taken a week to orchestrate and get approved- because apparently Gaara had to run it past the Heads- and a lot of back-and-forth lifting, but with Kankuro, Temari, and eventually even Baki's help they had finished it.

Fumiko hung her medical bag on one of the coatrack's various pegs, next to the one holding Gaara's Kage hat and above her cloak. Gaara was already here, working at his desk.

She slipped into the bathroom, took a bath to scrub off the worst of the paint stains on her skin, changed into pajamas, and then, yawning, switched off her lamp and curled up in the bed after leaving her satchel on her dresser next to the picture.

Hours later she wasn't quite asleep, merely thinking, and the other lamp on Gaara's desk turned off, drowning the room in darkness save for the moonlight filtering in through the windows, and Gaara slid into bed himself.

For some reason he had thought it would be awkward, but apparently it didn't matter three seconds later when he relaxed- because really, they'd slept in the same bed hundreds of times- and was quiet.

"Goodnight, Gaara," she whispered, and he jumped.

"Goodnight."

And that night, there were no nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, alpha-one antitrypsin deficiency is a real thing. I literally googled 'uncommon potentially fatal diseases' and scrolled through a few lists before I found that one. After extensive research (and looking at many pictures of lung transplant that I could have gone my entire life without seeing) I managed, hopefully, to make it sound realistic.
> 
> Speaking of which, I gave my mother a heart attack when she looked over my shoulder to see what I was doing and saw for tabs: one that said 'lung-transplant procedure' another that said 'alpha-one antitrypsin deficiency disease' another that said 'vomiting blood' and the one I was looking at was a picture of a lung transplant surgery. Eh-heh, I can explain...


	9. Age of Jackal

Fumiko opened her eyes sleepily, blinking to clear them. She stretched, arms and foot curling toward the center of the bed like the ends of a crescent moon. She wasn't expecting but half hoped for her fingers to touch skin, but they didn't and she knew they wouldn't.

Most of her mornings started like this.

For some reason, no matter how much Fumiko slept or how little, she never slept after seven in the morning. If she fell asleep at five PM? Six thirty. If she fell asleep at two in the morning? Seven o clock. She didn't ever feel tired when she woke up, but it helped keep her on schedule, so Fumiko didn't really mind her strange internal clock.

Gaara was almost never here when she first woke up- he was usually working. He woke up- or at least got up since he hardly ever slept- at four or five to go to his office. Save for those precious last Saturdays of every month when he had his day off from being Kazekage, she almost always woke up alone. Gaara wouldn't leave his work station without a crisis happening until around eleven o clock or midnight.

And thus began her morning routine.

Fumiko heaved herself out of her bed, standing on one foot and holding herself up against the side of the bed with one hand, kneeled and felt around blindly- despite the bright light her mind was still foggy- for her prosthetic, which was usually leaned up against the wall but sometimes was somewhere else on the floor or still in the covers depending on whether or not she had actually intended on falling asleep and taken off her prosthetic beforehand.

When she found it, Fumiko hopped back onto the bed and slid her sock on, then her prosthetic, which instantly connected through the sock to her chakra with a slight tingling feeling in the small little lump of skin.

She didn't need to switch on her lamp- sunlight was streaming in through the multiple windows on the curved end of the room. Finally she hobbled into the bathroom to brush her hair and brush her teeth, toes curling into the soft red rug at the base of the sink. There was another in front of the bathtub. She washed her face, then pulled off her clothes to toss them into the hamper before hobbling out and into the closet.

At seven, now seven fifteen, the sun was coming up, so it was warm enough to step around through a room naked without shivering. Fumiko carefully- just in case- shut the closet door behind her and flicked on the light before flipping through her side of the closet's hangers. She was going to work a lot today, so she probably needed to find one of her more paint-stained shirts.

After getting dressed, she stopped in front of her dresser to smile at the mirror and put on her walnut-charm necklace and clip her satchel to her waist. The reassuring weight of a sugar bottle and varying paint supplies was comfortable and expected.

Fumiko checked herself one more time to make sure she had everything, realized she had forgotten her bandanna, found it under the bed and stuffed it in her medical pouch, which she pulled off the coat rack and slung over her shoulders. The bag rested on her hip opposite the satchel. Fumiko pinned on her cloak, remembered to put on her shoe right before she left, and then finally made it into the hallway.

Sometimes, Gaara would wake her up with terrors in the middle of the night- having slipped off into too deep of a sleep while she was sleeping herself- and the routine would begin earlier. Depending on the time, they might talk or play a board game or maybe just get ready for the day, working around each other through the bathroom and the closet and the dressers, which was easy to do- it was known. It was familiar. They knew each other's schedules and habits better than their own.

On those days, Gaara was usually a little late to work and ate breakfast with her and Temari. But also on those days, Gaara was nervous of going to bed, and usually wouldn't come back to his room until the next afternoon, which meant not only did Fumiko wake up alone- she fell asleep alone, unless she fell asleep in his office by accident after going to visit him.

Today, though, was shaping up to be a normal day. Unfortunately, normal now discluded Mai; she still hadn't returned, and hadn't integrated herself into Fumiko's new daily happenings, it used to be that Fumiko saw her at least once or twice a day. Fumiko had sent letters to Uzumaki Naruto and Lee and A few people she had met from Rock but nobody knew where she was.

Lee had tried to deploy a mission himself to look for the missing Mitsuwa, however Tsunade had shut him down. Not that Fumiko really minded that one way or the other- if Mai didn't want to be found, she probably wouldn't be found.

Fumiko limped through the hall to the kitchen to start up breakfast and was greeted with a nod by Temari, who was already lounging in at the table with a cup of instant coffee in hand and a pile of papers in front of her. Sometimes she woke up earlier than Fumiko, depending on the situation, but usually she wouldn't appear until Fumiko was almost done cooking.

"Hi," Fumiko said brightly. "Up already, huh?"

Temari scowled. "This stupid Konoha stuff has me getting up earlier and earlier."

"Oh, well. Fish or eggs?"

"Fish."

Fumiko trotted over to the freezer- which was an actual electric freezer and not an icebox like almost everyone else's- to find the salmon, rifling through bags of frozen peas and tubs of ice cream.

Making breakfast was fun. Depending on how much time she had and what she was in the mood for (and the giant assortment of ingredients in the Kazekage's kitchen) she could make nearly anything and everything. Usually it was normal breakfast foods like French toast or eggs or bacon, sometimes ham too, but sometimes she made things like fruit smoothies or nikujaga or onigiri.

Fish and rice was what she was feeling today. Maybe poached eggs too, she could put that on top of the rice and put soy sauce in it. Fumiko had so sage leafs, and basil too. She set the fish in the sink to sit under a stream of warm water to thaw out and set about pulling out pots and pans.

"Hey, Fumiko, do you know if Gaara's gotten to contacting the other villages yet?" Temari asked after a while. "I know Konoha's Hokage has started doing that recently, but a few villages aren't responding. Kusa's one of them, and we have pretty good relations with them, so Tsunade-sama wanted to know if we could help with that."

"Not so far as I know, but I'll ask." Fumiko grinned. "Anyway, I know a lot of people in Kusa. A few of their businesses there are my natural herb and plant fiber suppliers for my art supplies, plus a few of them like to come down here and look at my stuff."

"You of all people would single-handedly have a good relationship with a hidden village."

Fumiko dumped rice into the now boiling pot of water on the stove. "It's not that big of a deal. I just make friends. And buy stuff from them."

"When is that fish going to be done?" Temari grumped, changing the subject. "I've been working on this stupid paperwork for nearly two hours now. I'm hungry."

"Sorry, it's not even thawed yet."

"What?!"

...

Fumiko dropped more sugar onto her fish, chewing on a mouthful of brown rice. Temari had already finished hers and broke her chopsticks in frustration. She was scowling at her pencil.

"Damn... how am I supposed to answer this?"

Fumiko swallowed her food. "What's the question?"

"It's asking how I intend to ensure that this Chunin exam doesn't turn out like the last one."

"That was your fault though."

"It- was not! It was Baki's fault."

"The Fourth Kazekage's fault."

"Orochimaru's fault," Temari conceded, and then paused. "Oh."

Fumiko nodded. "Put it on Orochimaru then. He's a well-known defected Sannin, and his motive was to kill their third, I think. So as long as the exams aren't held in Konoha, there would be no reason for him to try and attack it again. Anyway that only happened because... well... the only way to get Gaara into Konoha was to let him enter the Chunin exams. If there'd been any other way Baki probably wouldn't have let him get involved."

Temari nodded absently, pencil flying across paper. "Can I borrow Asuka?"

"Depends." Fumiko put another piece of fish in her mouth with her chopsticks. "Where's it goin' to?"

"Kiri."

"Mist?" Fumiko shrugged and swallowed again. "Sure. She's good for cover there. But, why do you need Asuka? There's lots of messenger birds."

"Kiri is... hostile sometimes." Temari grimaced and pushed her empty plate away. "Out of all of Suna's birds, Asuka is one of few that've actually been trained in espionage and to avoid enemy attacks. Plus she's mean."

"She is not."

"Yes she is. To everyone else but you."

"Huh." Fumiko paused mid-chew, trying to think back to all the times she'd seen Asuka snap at her handler or at others around her. The caretakers all told her she was snappy at any other messenger bird that tried to take her messages. "Maybe... I guess I never noticed before."

Fumiko took her last bite of salmon, swept the last of the rice into her mouth, and then stood, picking up her plate as she went. She rinsed off her plate and chopsticks and cleaned out the pot and pan while she was there, putting them on the drying rack and turning to pick up Gaara's breakfast. She was running a little late today- usually she woke at six thirty or earlier rather than seven, and he hadn't eaten yet. Gaara never did.

There was already two made up plates on the counter beside the sink with rice, nori, fish and soy packets. One was on a tray to be taken up to Gaara, along with a cup of green tea and an unbroken pair of chopsticks, and one was for Kankuro. There was a paper towel draped over both so they wouldn't get cold.

"Going already?"

The clock on the way read seven forty-six.

"Yeah, I've got commissions to do today. See you later, Temari."

"Alright then. I'll tell Kankuro you said hi."

...

Climbing up the stairs with a tray of food in her hands was no easy task, but today Tadashi- one of the paid servants- happened to be walking in the same direction and helped her.

Tadashi was one of the kinder Sunagakure retired ninja. Usually they were gruf and a little rude, but Tadashi tended to talk a lot, at least in her experience with him.

"Sorry, if I'd known you had an extra morning shift I wouldn've made you some too, Tadashi."

"No need to apologize, Fumiko-san. I'm sure Kazekage-sama needs it way more than I do. It's like he never leaves his office. Even the Fourth wasn't in there so much, bless him."

"I think Gaara might have a little more work than Rasa did, though." Fumiko smiled as they climbed the stairs, Tadashi holding her tray and Fumiko holding his duster. "Since we're no longer in financial problems, we can afford to do trade with more villages and participate in more stuff. That's... a lot more paperwork."

She laughed and Tadashi laughed with her. The sun was out and blazing strong, casting hot light through the window mounted at the top of the stairs. Little dust-specks danced in the air through the shafts of light like acrobats. Gaara's sand did that in the light too- it was constantly around him, just little enough that she usually didn't see it, this time without even his chakra infused.

...

Gaara had been working for the better part of his morning, but at least there weren't any crises today. It was all just trade relations, the occasional complaint or request from ninja and civilians alike, processing some of the more difficult mission requests that needed S-rank confirmation. Boring but safe. Nobody was getting killed.

The sun shone in through his windows, illuminating his work but also casting his shadow out across the wall. It looked strange, with his triangle hat and thick robes. Gaara studied it for a moment, remembering one Nara Shikamaru's attack on his shadow with bemusement.

The door opened. Gaara looked hurriedly back down at his work.

Stupid fifteen-page reports, he thought. Why do they have to be on the greenhouse crops?

"Gaa-ra," a voice sang. "I got break-fast!"

"Hey, Fumiko," he said without looking up.

He knew she grinned, though, could feel it in the way she hobbled across the office to put the tray down on top of his paperwork. Gaara blinked at it, almost definitely amused; he had almost stabbed the salmon strip with his pencil trying to fill out a signature space that had been there a split second before.

"Hi." she said back. "Break time."

She pulled up a chair next to him, talking about Temari's dealings with Konoha and the Chunin exams, and slid his papers out from under the tray to work on them, stealing the pencil from his hand and grinning again. When he saw she wouldn't give it back, he settled for picking up his chopsticks instead.

"And she was wondering if you were going to contact other Kage's soon," she finished, searching though his desk drawers for a blank sheet of paper. Gaara handed her one. "Thanks."

"I haven't gotten around to that yet," Gaara admitted.

Fumiko skimmed through the report, bulleting things down on the page as she went. Gisting, as she called it, writing down the important bits for him to do later. Gaara nearly sighed with relief- he would not have made it all the way through that report before bullshitting the response paper halfway. Fumiko needed to do it, anyway, she always liked to keep track of greenhouse crop for various art supplies or hospital supplies. "... That's fine." she said. "I... I'll do that if you want. Most of the... um, most of the Kage's like me anyways."

"Are you going to be at the aviary anytime soon?" Gaara broke his chopsticks and took a bite of poached egg.

"Yeah. Temari... wants to use Asuka," she said, flipping a page. "So I need to let the handlers know not to send her out."

"If that's the case, then please," Gaara said. "I won't have any time at all to do it today. And if I don't do it today, I'll probably forget." He sighed, a long, drawn-out breath of air, rubbing his face. "Sorry."

Fumiko shrugged. "No big deal," she said. "I'm late anyway. Ooh, Hollyhock. I wonder if Chiyo'll let me have any."

"Hollyhock?"

"Petals make brown," she said, scanning the pages. Fumiko was a little more than halfway through it now, squinting at the paper. Her hand paused for half a second before starting back up again, pencil scratching across paper in yet another bullet point. "Pigment in them does, anyway." A pause. "Gaara, this report is mixed up. Half of it is the plants and half of it is census stuff."

...

Fumiko's schedule got interrupted at sometime between nine PM and ten. She wouldn't know exactly- how could she? All the power was down and nobody could see the sun through the thick clouds of sand.

A vicious sandstorm had kicked up without warning in the afternoon. Everybody in Fumiko's little shop was stuck there until it went away.

Sand howled through Suna's streets, pounding the windows and the walls, seeping through every crack and dusting the place with sand. It was so thick that nobody could see two feet from the windows. There was the occasional dark silhouette outlined in the grains as something flew by or slammed into the walls. Everyone who wasn't a ninja flinched at the unexpected bangs.

It was dark inside. A few meager lanterns flickered from the counter and various chairs set up around the one room first- and only- floor, barely illuminating the place enough to make vision possible. It was hot, there were bodies everywhere, and all around were frightened faces. Suna citizens they might have been, but a sandstorm was nothing to get used to.

They were lethal.

To keep people busy, Fumiko enlisted their help to cover up her paintings on the walls with sheets and ripped up tarps and everything she could find that would protect them. She hauled out the stairs for the civilians and lower-level ninja. The high level kunoichi and shinobi yused wall-climbing jutsus to get to the highest ones.

While they worked, Fumiko worried.

Badly.

Gaara and the Sand Siblings would be fine. They were in the Tower, and that was the safest place to be in a sandstorm, and besides, the sand would never hurt her best friend. But there were so many others... who would have been outside when the storm hit, and so many people who wouldn't have opened their doors once a sandstorm like this was raging.

And she worried for herself and those trapped in her little shop as well. Thank Kami she had gone out to buy supplies; she had enough food in the little boxes to last all of them a few days, maybe, if the shinobi could help her ration. But she had no fireplace, no hidden supply of blankets and quilts big enough to keep everyone warm at night, when it got cold.

When it got deadly cold.

Fumiko shivered. This storm could last for days, they could be trapped here for a long time.

"Fumiko-san!" one of the jonin in the room called down from the his spot standing upside-down with his feet on the ceiling. "We're running out of tarp, but we've only got a few more to cover..."

By 'a few more' he meant a little less than a quarter of them. That would take the last of her tarps.

Fumiko took a deep breath. Somewhere in the crowd of maybe forty people a baby was crying. All of Fumiko's easels had been pushed to the side, jammed against the wall. Every extra chair and even her mattress had been dragged out, but still some people were sitting on the floor or standing, looking nervous or frightened. A few of the ninja looked more relaxed. Fumiko realized they would probably have food or supplies on them to last.

"No. Leave them."

"But, Fumiko-san, your paintings-"

"If they get messed up they'll get messed up. It's paint on a piece of canvas. I can make more of those." Fumiko smiled slightly. "If this storm lasts out 'till night we'll need the rest of the tarps."

The shinobi man nodded at her before turning to climb back down. The others followed him, coming down from the walls and the ladders, carefully so that nobody tripped ad fell all the way back down.

Fumiko thought about her little woodburner oven and the pile of firewood tipped over where her mattress had once been. If she could drag that out here...

"Excuse me," Fumiko said, pushing past a few people talking nervously. "Excuse me, please..."

...

"Gaara, stop pacing." Temari said anxiously.

"Gaara, stop pacing," Kankuro echoed.

Gaara didn't stop pacing.

"That sandstorm hit the whole of Sunagakure," he muttered. "We haven't had a storm this big since the Third!"

"I know that. But-"

"But what, Temari?" Gaara snapped. "It's been two days!"

...

"F-Fumido," a little boy sniffed, shaking her shoulders. "F-Fumido."

Fumiko wasn't asleep, just sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall. She had her cloak wrapped around herself. It was midnight, maybe, and the sandstorm had demolished two windows and put multiple cracks in the wall and it was cold, air was pushing in, and so was sand and once a chunk of steel that had been ripped off a cart or maybe an umbrella.

The shinobi who could wall-climb had covered the windows up the best they could but things were still getting inside.

The power was still out- and it would be down until someone fixed it after the storm. The woodstove was burning and she was hungry.

"Hai?" Fumiko opened her eyes to the young civilian boy's persistent shaking. He was short, maybe five or six, with dusty blond hair and tanned cheeks. Around his shoulders was a piece of tarp that had been taken back down from the wall. Fumiko recognized him from the few times she had talked to his mother and given him a cookie- Kenzo.

"F-Fumido, I'm cold." he said in hushed tones.

Fumiko nodded. "Me, too."

"I'm cold," he said again.

"Me, too." Fumiko murmured back. "Where's your mom?"

He pointed backward to one of the lumps crowded together on the floor by the stove. "Over there."

"Why don't you stay with her?"

"Because... because she's sleeping," he whispered. "And there're strangers over there."

Fumiko nodded again and opened up her cloak. "Wanna stay with me?"

The little boy nodded and rushed at her, curling up in her lap, or what was left of it. Fumiko was sitting sort of criss-crossed, and he mostly ended up on her one whole leg. He wrapped his tarp around himself and Fumiko wrapped her cloak around both of them.

...

"You can't, Gaara."

"I can control the sand."

"You'll get ripped apart by the wind. Or smashed into a grease spot by some flying rock or something." Temari glared at him, skin ghostly pale against the flickers of the oil lamp on the kitchen table. "You have to wait."

"She's right," Kankuro said, fingers fumbling with some puppet piece or another a leg maybe, at the table in front of the lamp, a screwdriver in one hand and two screws in the corner of his mouth. "Besides, the door to the studio is probably blocked. Dig it up and you might make something collapse in the middle of the storm. Besides, what would you do when you got there? Hide out with them?"

Gaara growled low in his throat. "They'll freeze."

"She's got wood and that stupid oven," Temari said. "Besides, there's ninja there, there always is. They know how to stay warm in a sandstorm."

...

Kenzo was sleeping now. The sun was coming up, and thank Kami thank Kami thank Kami the wind was starting to let up, and Fumiko knew that because the sand that had been piling up in drifts had stopped scattering around and getting in people's eyes.

They were almost out of food, but at least it was getting warmer. A few of the ninja were up, they cast questioning glances at her and she pointed to the stove the best she could without jostling the sleeping child. "Put out the stove," she said quietly. "I think it's morning and the storm's letting up."

"It is," a kunoichi said back. "Should be over in a few hours."

"Are we drifted in?"

"Like a sand dune." She nodded. "It's going to be a while before the streets are clear again."

"Gaara'll help." Fumiko rubbed the little boy's hair gently. "We'll be good in a few hours once he starts."

The ninja put the fire out as it got warmer. Eventually, Kenzo woke, yawned, rubbed his eyes and went back to his mother. Fumiko stood, reconnecting her prosthetic- that she had taken off to preserve chakra and heat, which was why she'd been fine away from the fire- and stretched her arms above her head, watching the little boy stumble back to the mattress where his mother was just starting to wake up.

...

"It's easing up," Kankuro noted.

"I know. I can sense it."

"I can see now," Kankuro said, peering out a window. "Everything's covered at least halfway up, but now it's pretty much dead wind. We'll be able to leave in an hour, probably. Think you can clean it up, Gaara?"

Gaara's heart was still racing, and he was still pacing, although his feet had slowed considerably after what was just starting out to be three days. Now that the wind wasn't beating down the walls, it was easier to think, easier to breathe- literally, the ventilators must have been unclogged as the storm blew with more wind than sand, it was easier to breathe- and he had calmed down considerably.

"Oh..." Kankuro said suddenly, voice a ringing hiss in the quiet.

"What? What is it?" Temari asked cautiously, turning around to put her arm on the back of her chair.

"Oh, I..." Kakuro sighed and pinched his eyes shut. "... The sand blew off the top of a dune. There's a person buried in the sand."

"Alive?"

"Feet are sticking up in the air. They're not moving."

Gaara clenched his jaw as his brother pulled the shades.

...

It took three people to yank open the door. Sand poured in like a tidal wave.

"I know an earth style," an older chunin remarked as they stared at the drift. "I can get up to the top, see what's going on, maybe get some help."

"Gaara'll be here soon," Fumiko said from the middle of the room. "Please wait for him."

The man made a few hand signs before tunneling away through the pile of sand. It didn't leave a hole; the space filled up again just as quickly as it had been pushed aside, a few streams of sand falling from the point of entry to the floor.

...

When she finally got outside, Gaara was waiting by the door, having cleared all the sand away from the building. She fell on him, finally letting exhaustion creep into her vision, not crying because she hadn't been quite that scared and they hadn't run out of food.

He clutched her back just as hard. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, we're all fine."

Gaara didn't say anything else for a few long seconds. Then: "I'm glad."

"Me too." Fumiko paused to take a long breath and then exhale. "Love you."

Gaara touched her hair, put his hand on the back of her head. Fumiko found herself nearly completely supported. "You too."

...

There was a lot of cleaning to do after the storm. There was sand everywhere. For Gaara, cleaning meant standing on the roof of his Kazekage Tower, arms raised and palms up, pulling sand up from around the buildings and heaving the excess back out into the desert outside the walls where they belonged, and clearing away the huge, tsunami-like piles of sand forced up against the walls on the outside, covering up every entrance into the village.

For Fumiko, this meant pulling the sheets and tarps off her paintings, throwing away the ruined ones- one particular pencil picture of an abstract swirl had been stabbed through the center like a bulls-eye by the random piece of metal that had streaked into the building and stabbed into the wall- and sweeping away the sand. She also, after a few days of general village confusion, got someone to fix her windows and patch the walls.

It also meant cleaning the Tower, not because it was sandy but because nobody had bothered to really pick up after themselves. Vacuuming, sweeping, washing dishes, throwing away food. There was grease on the kitchen table along with one of Kankuro's oil cans, so she could guess where the siblings had been during the storm.

...

About a week later, everything and everybody was settled, the sand cleared, the dead buried, the trash picked up and either burned or thrown out. The village worked again, and the weather was like nothing had happened at all. Funerals were held and attended. Buildings and homes were fixed and reinforced.

Fumiko was hanging out now in Kankuro's workshop, which was kind of like Fumiko's studio except for with puppets, and it was in one of the partial-rooms in the sub-level basement. The room was dark, lit by a few flickering lights and lamps, with a large table marred with scars and deep grooves from acid-like poison and blades. It was scattered with hanging puppets and incomplete parts here and there, on the bed, the floor, the nightstand, with one almost-finished prototype on the table.

Kankuro was working on it now, absentmindedly talking to Fumiko as he did.

"What about the puppet corps. building?"

"It was fine."

"No damage?"

"Not really... We've always had seals against water or sand damage."

"Oh. That's cool."

"What about your studio?"

"A few windows broke, but other than that, I only lost a few paintings. We were fine."

"Oh."

"I'm going to go make lunch now."

"I'm going to go with you and eat it," Kankuro said immediately, putting down his miniature hand saw and standing.

Fumiko laughed.

...

Gaara found her in the library.

She was sitting in the middle of an aisle, surrounded by books, with another open in front of her.

"What are you doing?"

Fumiko didn't flinch; maybe she had sensed him coming. She blinked up at him as he stepped closer and sat down, careful to avoid the hardcover books. "I'm trying to find out what bats are like. What they eat and like to do. Stuff like that. Did you know that there are over one thousand species of bat known in the Nations?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Subspecies'?"

"No, I mean why are you researching bats? Don't you have a contract with them?"

"Yeah, but they don't like me yet."

...

Fumiko woke up suddenly, eyes opening all at once. Sunlight streamed into her face and she squinted, stretching, and felt nobody beside her.

This was the eigth day in a row so far since the storm, and almost all of them had been routine, which was a relief in itself. Get up, get ready, make breakfast, eat with Temari, bring up food to Gaara, go to the studio, paint, paint, paint, maybe draw, come home, clean up, drop into Kankuro's workshop to say hi, make dinner, eat with Kankuro and Temari, bring the rest up to Gaara, help him with work until he either shooed her out or she fell asleep (which hadn't happened in a while) take a bath and go to sleep.

It was nice sleeping almost every night. She wasn't less tired or anything, but there was just... more energy.

She pulled herself out of bed, found her prosthetic leaning up against the wall, and headed into the bathroom.

Fumiko hummed happily as she washed her face and brushed her hair out. It was getting longer- her hair was almost to the middle of her back. Maybe I should get a haircut, she thought, running the brush through it again.

She put her clothes in the hamper and trotted out to the closet.

And froze halfway there when she realized the door was open and she was staring Kankuro in the face.

"Oh..." he said. "U-um-!"

Fumiko blinked.

There was a thudding sound and Kankuro fell, eyes sliding back into his head. He crumpled to the floor. Fumiko stared wide-eyed for a second at Temari, who was shaking her head at the fallen puppet master and sighing. "When I told you to get up early," she grumbled, "That did not mean to come bug Fumiko when you got hungry."

...

A week before Mai's twelfth birthday, Fumiko went to the blacksmith, even though Mai hadn't returned. She'd been gone for nearly three months, and the time for exams had come and gone, although the initiation wouldn't be held for another two weeks due to the incredible amount of damage the arena had taken and the lack of available jonin-sensei who were being deployed on one mission after the next to help pay for Sunagakure's repairs.

She placed an order for a pair of tanto blades with the same dimensions as Mai's old weapons, except with stronger, sharper blades and slightly longer hilts. The blacksmith nodded at her.

"Hasn't been too much business lately, after that storm. I'll be able to focus on those swords easy. What are they for?"

"A birthday present."

"Tanto blades for a birthday present?" The blacksmith rolled his heavy shoulders in a shrug, picking up the carbon-copy receipt with the requests on it. "Eh, I've heard of stranger things. It should be ready in a week or so."

"Perfect."

...

The day before Mai's twelfth birthday, she showed up at Fumiko's bedroom door.

Fumiko stared, fingers slipping from the doorknob to hang limply at her side. Her other hand, which had been holding a paintbrush stained in red loosened and ithit the ground, splattering red like blood across the sandy floor.

"Sup?" Mai said with a tired grin.

She was so thin. Mai had lost at least fifteen pounds since she had disappeared, and her cheeks were hollowed slightly, skin sallow and pale. Mai looked absolutely exhausted. Bandages covered her arms, and there was another wrapped around her forehead. Rips and tears in her frayed, shredded red kunoichi top and leather pants revealed even more wrappings, around her chest and stomach and knees.

She could barely support herself, and was leaning against the doorframe, sweating and heaving like she could barely breathe. With the arm pressed up against the frame, Mai whad her ninja bag slung over her shoulder, elbow nearly level with her face.

But she was smiling, grinning like a wolf that just caught up to it's prey.

"Ohmysugar! Mai!" Fumiko yelped. "What-?"

"Mai?" Gaara hissed sharply, sitting up on the bed. "What in the world-"

"Happened to you?" they both exclaimed together.

Mai seemed impressed. "Well... that didn't take long. First you're... living together in the same room and now..." She barked a breathless laugh. "Now you guys are... finishing sentences. What's next? Oh... my wrist's broken... by the way."

"You what?" Fumiko said dumbly. "Oh!"

She took her sister's dead-looking left hand, squeezing the wrist gently to push the joint back in place and closing her eyes to concentrate, wrapping her fingers around Mai's wrist. She felt rather than saw the warm green healing flames flicker across her skin.

Fumiko could hear Gaara scrambling up from where he'd been lying on the couch. Someone had knocked while she was repainting his kanji, neither of them had expected... this. Fumiko was horrified to realize that she hadn't recognized Mai's bright gold chakra. "You weren't supposed to be gone so long! They-"

Gaara stuttered suddenly. Fumiko opened her eyes to see the warning in her sister's, which vanished half a second later. For a second Fumiko thought she had imagined it, but when Gaara's voice trailed off, she realized they were hiding something.

There was a wet pop as the cartilage reconnected and began to seal. Mai winced. "Ow, dammit. I'm fine, guys. Really. Just a nap and some aspirin and... food, and I'll be ready for my party tomorrow."

"Party?"

"What, no birthday party?"

"You look dead! You disappeared!"

"I did not. I was just... uh, training."

"Training?" Fumiko parroted, disbelief coloring her tone. "Me and Kankuro and mom and your sensei looked all over the village for you! I even got people in other villages to look all over their villages! And you missed your exams!"

"No I didn't." Mai laughed. "I probably almost maybe passed the written one, and I totally floored the physical."

"But- but your sensei-"

Fumiko was bewildered. Mai had been missing for almost three months, and now that she was here she looked nearly half dead, and she was acting like she'd never left- and she was asking after her birthday party? How in the world had she take her Genin exams if her instructors had had no idea where she was? 

But now that she looked closer, Fumiko realized there was something different. Mai's muscles were more defined- wiry and tough in the way that kunoichi's tended to be, only now Fumiko could actually see them, barely buldging through her skin. Her hair was less wild, almost smooth, like she'd been brushing it out, and shorter, chopped down to just above her shoulders rather than the middle of her back.

"Nah, it was a different Genin test." Mai shrugged with one shoulder and pulled her hand away, flexing her fist. "My sensei didn't know... anything about it. Ha, they'll be confused when my name shows up on the roster... Now, can I come in and... pass out on your bed, or...?"

"Oh."

Fumiko stepped to the side and Mai heaved off the doorframe, staggering past her. As she passed Gaara, Mai thumped him on the shoulder with an uncoordinated hand. "Ferret-taicho told me you were worried. Don't be. He doesn't tell people shit, doesn't mean I died."

"Taicho?" Fumiko echoed. "Ferret-"

Mai raised a bandaged finger to her mouth, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she looked over her shoulder at her and winked, a movement so similar to the same gesture she'd made almost three months ago- shh, don't tell mom- before turning away and continuing on to the bed in a drunken-looking swaying line. "Shh. I didn't say that, you know."

Mai dropped her bag then and collapsed on the bed, face buried in a pillow, and was asleep in seconds.

...

Fumiko spent a lot of time by her sister's bedside that day. Gaara had immediately- after staring at her for a good three seconds, Fumiko staring right back in surprise- shunshined off to tell everybody about Mai's sudden unorthodox appearance in the Tower.

Fumiko's little friend group was shot, as was Mai's. Kankuro was in the room, with her, pacing about. Temari had gone to the Academy to inform the sensei of Mai's return and subsequent addition to the initiation short list. Letters were already flying to all of her contacts, and there were two medics from the hospital that had sworn up and down to help if their old colleague's little sister needed any help.

Now it were halfway through Mai's twelfth birthday and she was in something so close to a coma while still being exhaustion-sleep that Fumiko was tempted to find a heart-moniter just for a continuous check. But they weren't in the hospital and Mai would kill her if she tried to bring the now-kunoichi to one while she was sleeping.

Now she had her green-coated hands splayed out over her sister's body, one hovering close enough to her head for Fumiko to feel the warmth of her skin- not a fever- the other over her chest. She was circulating the blood, trying to get her heart to beat faster ad activate an adrenaline rush. This was something she could only do for a few minutes at a time, otherwise she would give her sister nightmares or possibly even damage her veins and arteries.

"Is she gonna wake up or what?"

"Yeah, Kankuro. Just give her some time. Hey, how's her part thing going?"

Kankuro let out a half-sigh, half-growl. "Only Mai would... yeah, Matsuri's working on it. Should be lots of streamers and random kunoichi stuff."

Fumiko smiled distractedly. "Since when are streamers a kunoichi thing?"

"Since... always?"

"I thought you had streamers at your party last year?"

"It wasn't a party, it was a get-together. Anyway, Temari planned it, so there."

Something in Mai's circulatory system blipped, like an irregular heartbeat. It was only one beat, so there was nothing particularly dangerous about it, but it was definitely odd. Mai's vitals hadn't changed at all other than by deliberate stimulations. She bit her lip.

"Kankuro, do that again."

"Do what again?"

"Argue with me."

"What?"

"Argue with me."

"... What?" Kankuro sounded baffled. "Uh... about what?"

"Um..." Fumiko let her gates snap open; the green faded from her hands and she rolled her shoulders. "Uh..."

Something Mai would say, Fumiko thought. This is gonna be weird.

"You know, Kankuro, I think you've been pacing around too much. Your makeup is running."

"What the- it's not makeup! Fumiko, what's-"

"Aha, there it is again," Fumiko murmured, having pressed her palm down against Mai's chest. She had wondered if it hadn't actually happened; that perhaps she had over-stimulated the blood, or had just misread it entirely. But it was there. Apparently Mai really liked arguing.

"She can hear us."

"She can what?"

"Mai can hear us. I think she just wants to sleep I guess."

"She can..." Kankuro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, damn it all. She's probably getting a kick out of all this."

"Um, it doesn't work like-"

"Fumiko?"

"Hai?"

"Please never try to talk like Mai again."

"Okay."

...

Mai's bag was full of weapons and clothes. Her weapons were different ones, shuriken and kunai and longswords coated with some kind of black metal that was harder and sharper than her old Academy-standard tools- these were unlike even Gaara's ordinary steel weapons. These would cut through bone like tissue paper.

Her clothes were ruined. They were all destroyed like they'd been put through a shredder, some tops to the point that they looked like cutoff tank tops, and a few pairs of pants missing legs and one that almost looked like a pair of shorts instead. Fumiko threw these away, because they were stained with things like poison and blood and basically nothing more than scraps of red and gold fabric.

After turning Mai's bag inside out and checking every hidden zippered pocket and bundles of cleverly sewed-together fabric she could find, Fumiko slumped back.

There had to be something. Mai had dropped the thing on her paint pallet.

It was splattered with red. Not blue or black or purple or pink or yellow, but red. There was something else.

Mai was awake now. She had missed her party entirely and had fumed about that fact for a good three hours, complaining and breaking things and still unable to get out of the guest bed except for a few short steps (her escape attempts) and still refusing to go to the hospital.

Not that she needed to go. She was exhausted, and underneath all of those bandages were what looked like self-stitched closed up wounds. Some were done worse than others, which was no surprise- Mai had had no idea how to stitch wounds before she left. She had to have been learning as she went. But either way, most were already healed, and those that weren't had quickly been taken care of. Aside from that, she needed food and sleep.

And maybe a few blood increasing pills, too.

Mai had gotten her presents though- she had turned right around and cut the curtain over her window in half before nodding and thanking her. Gaara had given her a set of trick blades that spewed poison, knockout, and just plain smoke depending on which kunai you used. Temari had given her new bladed hair sticks (the two of them had laughed.) Kankuro had given her an earring- just one- a short gold tangling chain with a ruby set at the bottom.

He'd muttered that he'd noticed the new hole in her body, and then they'd started bickering again.

Finally, Fumiko sighed and stood, shrugging.

"Maybe it was an accident," she said to the air, smiling. "Pure chance."

She went to the bathroom to wash it off. It was paint of her own design: meant to last for weeks on skin and forever on canvas, which meant probably forever on fabric as well if she didn't get it off. Mai probably wouldn't mind even if it was permanent, Fumiko supposed. It would look like she'd killed or at last maimed somebody with it.

Fumiko held it under a stream of lukewarm water for a few moments, watching red water swirl down the drain.

Fumiko had hated blood. So, so much. It had always meant fear, meant death, meant candles and funerals and hatred. Meant that somebody couldn't be trusted, that someone had tried to kill them in their sleep, and then Gaara would have to deal with it later, the looks, the whispers, the funeral of the dead man, if they knew who it was. Sometimes they didn't.

But then blood had begun to mean life. A chance to save. A chance to trap it, to keep it going, flowing, that was how a medic saw blood, the more blood the less chance, the less blood a better chance. A stain on the ground usually meant a living person running.

Fumiko had always tried to hide the blood before. Even Gaara's father had once pointed it out to her. But now she just... didn't mind it.

Didn't like it.

But didn't mind it.

Fumiko gasped and yanked the bag out of the water.

A seal.

There was a seal on the inside of the bag. The paint had seeped inside and drowned it from view. Fumiko had almost washed it off, but it wasn't blurry, which meant it probably wouldn't explode if she tried to Unseal whatever was inside of it... hopefully.

Had Mai specialized it or made it general to her chakra? One would hurt her or just not work, the other would perfectly unseal.

Fumiko closed just one gate, forming a bastardized Ox sign before putting her fingers down on top of the fabric, holding it down against the counter with her elbows to keep it from slipping. It was damp and oozing now-cold water. She pushed chakra into the seal, slowly, feeling it as her energy stretched out inside the seals, unraveling the kanji, filling the blackness and unlocking it.

There was a puff of Mai's residual chakra as the seal opened, and when it cleared, Fumiko practically choked on her own tongue in her surprise.

The long nose was the first thing Fumiko noticed. Well, it wasn't really long exactly, it was just sculpted all the way down past the wearer's chin to look like a dog's nose, or maybe a desert jackal's, like it would curve around a thin jawline and just barely cover it. Long, wide ceramic ears jutted out of the top; the whole face was slim and angular, with empty holes for eyes.

Burnt orange paint lines like burning sand curved from the base of the ears down the jackal's muzzle, and swirled from just to the right of the center of the forehead to curl around the bottom of the left eye. Aside from those thick lines, it was purely white. Two simple leather straps were attached to either side.

It was a mask.

An ANBU mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mai was in ANBU training :)  
> Hints?   
> 1\. She passed a test at school. Not a written test, she kindof just accidentally passed an ANBU exam by doing sneaky shit she wasn't supposed to. Maybe she attacked someone and got away unscathed or maybe she changed her grades unnoticed, I'll leave that stuff up to you.
> 
> 2\. Gaara's little comment about not knowing who any of the ANBU was, and that he was uninvolved in any ANBU affairs except for signing off to approve younger candidates.
> 
> 3\. She brought everything except her Tanto somply because of the fact that she knew she was gonna be gone past when she was supposed to give them up, and because she would use ANBU standard tools rather than those.
> 
> So. Question. Does anybody know any good English-to-Romanized-Japanese translators that don't need to be downloaded and aren't dictionaries? Please and thank you.


	10. Don't Jinx It

Fumiko woke up slowly, yawning and stretching.

She blinked when she realized her head- and most of her upper body- was hanging off the side of the bed. She lost her balance and slid off with a sharp yelp to the floor headfirst, then landing on her back with a thud.

Fumiko just fumbled for a second, confused, then started to laugh.

She must have been tossing and turning in the middle of the night again.

Fumiko heaved to a sitting position, shaking the last of the cobwebs out of her brain and reaching for her prosthetic.

...

While she was brushing her teeth, Fumiko took a second to blink at her own reflection in the mirrors. There were four Fumiko's blinking back at her.

She was still wearing her pajamas. The shirt was still a little rumpled from her night's kicking around, and her face was still flushed with sleep, but her eyes looked strangely alert, even to her. Fumiko paused, leaning closer to the mirror in front of her.

They were brown. No flecks, like in her sister's eyes, that were dabbed with shades of gold, like their father's eyes. Hers were plainly brown, but shadowed as she moved so they looked deeper, like holes you could fall into, bright in some places and dark in others.

Fumiko realized she was staring at her own eyes and resumed brushing her teeth.

Finally she spat into the sink. Pink spotted white strawberry flavored toothpaste drained into the sink with the water. She put her light blue toothbrush in the little ceramic cup next to Gaara's dark red one. His toothpaste was just plain mint. Fumiko wasn't even sure he'd been looking when he picked it up.

Or that he cared.

She shrugged and splashed water on her face, then shook her head to flick it off. Her hair was still a puffy mess, so she picked up her blue plastic hairbrush and set to it.

Fumiko never took baths in the morning. Why? Because at the end of the day she was always covered in paint, so why would she sleep covered in paint? Besides, it tended to take a while anyway, and she still needed to make breakfast for the Sand siblings.

Temari was leaving in a few weeks for Konoha- she was just waiting for a Genin escort to accept the C-rank. Not because she needed one, but because some of the higher-level Jonin and other ninja were trying to give the new Genin experience.

Speaking of which, Fumiko needed to hurry, if she wanted to get any work done before Mai's initiation meeting tonight.

Her sister was walking around now without support. Fumiko had resealed the ANBU Jackal mask back into Mai's bag and left it by her bed. When she noticed it, she'd grinned and given her a thumbs up, like let's keep a secret.

Fumiko put her hairbrush down, pushed her hair over her shoulders, and peeled her pajama top off, throwing it backwards the hamper behind her.

It missed, and she had to turn around and put it in.

"I'll get that someday."

...

"Good morning, Temari."

"Morning, Fumiko. What's for breakfast?"

"Omelets." Fumiko smiled, sliding her spatula underneath the egg to flip half of it over.

"Omelets sound good."

"Yeah?" Fumiko grinned down at her pan. "Good, 'cause that's lunch for me. I'm making a lot."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe someone else will be hungry."

"You just wanted to use the last of the green peppers before they went bad, didn't you?"

"Nobody eats the green peppers," Fumiko agreed. "Dunno why the greenhouses send over a batch of everything if some things we never get around to using."

"Dad used to eat them. With onions. For his steaks."

"The Fourth?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know that?" Temari sounded surprised. "I would've thought Gaara had told you already. Meat and onions with green peppers, that was his favorite. He ate it almost every night unless mom made him eat something different... huh... I'm sorry. Gaara wouldn't know anything about mom."

Fumiko stopped flipping. The eggs sizzled away in the pan and she put down the spatula.

"Temari... Gaara never ate dinner with you... did he?"

"No, he didn't. Not unless somebody forced him to for appearances. Even then..." her voice was wistful and sad, almost, a complete three-sixty from her previous sarcastic, jovial tone. "Even then... there wasn't too much you could say or do back then to make him do anything."

Fumiko turned around. Temari was staring into the cup of coffee Fumiko had put out for her.

"You know Gaara never talks about his parents with me." Fumiko stated. Temari didn't know that, actually, but it felt like she should have. "That's the one thing he doesn't tell me."

"I suppose that's for good reason, huh?" Temari poked the drink with her spoon to make a ripple. "Dad tried to kill you guys a lot. Kami, I swear..."

There was a hissing sound, the omelets starting to burn. Fumiko turned around hurriedly and flipped them, digging the spatula under them to dislodge them from their pans. Finally they were set and it was quiet again.

Fumiko stared at a mar of brown where an omelet had almost burned.

"Tell me... about Gaara's mom."

Silence. Then: "Why?"

"Yashamaru said... you know about Yashamaru, right?"

"Yeah. Gaara told me and Kankuro about him and all that. What about him?"

"Yashamaru... ah, I don't remember all that much from then. A lot of it went poof!" Fumiko wiggled her fingers in the air. "But... I remember this one thing he said... I never talked about it, 'cause it messed Gaara up bad."

"What was it?"

Fumiko slid her spatula underneath an omelet and pulled it off the pan, dropping it on a plate for Temari. The others would be ready soon. She turned the burner off for that one.

"He was saying something about Gaara's name."

"The way it's spelled, right? I, love, and demon. Self-loving carnage."

"Yeah, that. And that Karura... Gaara's mom... that she named him that to curse the village."

"What? Yashamaru said that?"

"Yeah." Another omelet, flick the burner off. "Yashamaru told us that Gaara's mom hated the village for forcing her to have Gaara, and for sealing the demon inside against her will. And that... She hated him enough to give him that name, to live forever as a burden on Suna."

"That's not-!" Something crashed. "That can't be right!"

Fumiko jumped and whipped around. There was coffee everywhere. "Tema-"

"Forget breakfast, Fumiko," Temari muttered, heading for the door, coffee dripping down her fingers. The shattered cup was in pieces on the table and the floor. "I need to go cut things in half."

There was a whirl of wind, and Temari was gone.

...

Fumiko didn't mention her conversation with Temari to Gaara when she brought him up his omelet.

Temari had refused to talk any more on the subject. She didn't deny Yashamaru's claims, but she didn't agree with them, either, which was strange. All she'd said was, "I guess mom didn't want to die." And then she'd leapt out a window, fan in hand.

The subject of Gaara's mom wasn't any more cleared up than it had been for the last eight years of Fumiko's life, so she decided in the end that it didn't really matter. Karura was dead now. Worrying about her hatred made no more sense than worrying about Rasa's.

Gaara looked stressed, so Karura was immediately forgotten.

"What's wrong?"

Gaara didn't even look at the plate. He was rubbing his temples, eyes unfocused, sliding across his papers like wild blue marbles. "All of my assistants are out today, we lost six ANBU to an ambush in Iwa, the main catacomb underground has collapsed and now we have no gravesites left, there was an error in the Academy registration process and now no one is signed up for classes next semester-"

"We're going for a walk."

"We- what? But I-"

"We're going for a walk, Gaara."

"No, I-"

"We're going for a walk."

"But-"

"In the desert."

"Fumiko, I can't-"

"Now."

Fumiko didn't wait for him to disagree again, just pulled up on his forearm until finally he stood, and practically dragged him out of his office and away from his crazy.

...

"Better now?" Fumiko asked after almost a half an hour of mostly aimless wandering through the hot desert surrounding Sunagakure's walls. Neither of them had said a word at all the entire time, but Gaara had very visibly relaxed. Aside from occasionally venturing outside to give some speech or address some crowd, everything he needed was in the Tower, and so very rarely did he ever get the chance to go outside.

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. Sugar, Gaara, you got pretty trampled today."

"The flu's getting around again. A lot of my helpers of any kind are coming down with it. Of course, everything went wrong as soon as I was the only one left to deal with it."

"I can't believe the catacombs collapsed. Even..."

Even your family?

Gaara seemed to understand and let out a long sigh. "Gone. Destroyed. We used stone and concrete to make it last longer, but... the coffins were made of wood, and sand doesn't hold off stone masonry very well, apparently. So many people are upset."

"I guess so, huh?"

"All of the complaints, the reports, repairs, evacuations of buildings that could go into sinkholes, that alone could last me a week. But on top of that, six ANBU have gone missing, which is causing an uproar in the shadow corps, and now the next generation of ninja have to scramble for spots that got mixed up with the villager school's children."

"Maybe I should help you sort through it all."

"No, it's... it's fine." Gaara looked up towards the sky, squinting at the bright sun. "I just needed to breathe."

"Plenty of air out here, ne?" Fumiko spread her arms and smiled widely. "Nothing but air and sand and cactai. And..." she paused as a strange clicking sounded nearby. "And a rattlesnake. Let's go that way instead."

...

After a few hours of playing hooky and walking around the desert, they finally made their way back into the village. The studio was closer, so they would stop there first, and then Gaara would go on ahead to the Tower. He insisted on finishing his work on his own.

Fumiko was holding Gaara's arm now for balance, skipping over various random pebbles and debris and laughing. Gaara didn't seem to mind, smiling himself as he watched, so she didn't stop.

They were just a few yards away from the building when an older man wearing a formal Suna headdress stepped out of the shadows. Ninja seemed to like doing that.

Fumiko stopped jumping. "Hi, Joseki."

Joseki didn't seem to like her very much, or find any of the things she did helpful. Then again, he didn't really much like Gaara, either, as far as she could tell. He was probably the only one on the Council requesting that Gaara either create an heir or train an apprentice to take his place 'someday'.

Joseki ignored her.

"Gaara-sama," he said. "What are you doing out here?"

Gaara made a sharp tch noise with his teeth, mouth turning down at the corners with displeasure. "Joseki-san," he said politely. "I was just heading back."

"How long have you been out here with Fumiko-san?" Joseki's own lips were tugged down in a scowl of disappointment. "You are the Kazekage now. Perhaps Fumiko-san isn't capable of taking things seriously, but you should know better than that."

"Ne, but Gaara was overwhelmed," Fumiko said. "He needed a break."

"The Kazekage is fully capable, I'm sure, of handling paperwork," Joseki said, voice falling just short of respectful. "You may go back to your paint shop now, girl."

"Fumiko," Gaara said. "Go on ahead."

"Huh, but-"

"Joseki-san is right," Gaara said. "I need to get back to work."

His eyes were narrowed. Something, some intuition, told Fumiko that whatever it was wasn't just about work. She nodded once, smiling, and kissed his cheek. "Okay. See you later then, Gaara."

She stepped away, waving a little before concentrating on the ground in front of her so she wouldn't trip. She hummed to herself as she walked, some old lullaby song her mother had sung for her as a child, before Gaara. "Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings..."

She pulled out the keys to her studio door as she stopped outside it, digging through her satchel. "... Little blue pigeon... with velvet eyes... sleep to the singing, of mother-bird swinging, swinging the nest where her little one lies."

She stuck the keys in the lock and turned the knob, opening the door to darkness, which was odd, but maybe the windows had been covered up by some of her work. She hadn't really been paying attention to where she hung her canvas lately.

"Away out yonder, I see a star." Fumiko reached for the light switch. "Silvery star with a tinkling song... that's weird. What is this stuff?"

Where her light switch usually was, there was apparently a bunch of... what were they? They felt like snakes, or firm spaghetti. Fumiko felt around, but her vision even adjusted to the dark couldn't quite make it out. Just the silhouette of something that still looked like snakes or firm spaghetti sticking out from the wall.

"Those are my wires," Fumiko said, song dying on her lips. "The sugar?"

It didn't really matter anyway, there was an emergency light that worked on solar power from the roof anyway, behind the counter. It was red, but that was okay.

Fumiko felt around for canvas or easels that she would probably run into, stepping slowly to where she knew her counter was. She tripped a little on a tarp but managed to catch herself on a stool. "Yick! Oh nope, I'm okay now."

She felt around the counter to get around it, fingers of one hand sliding along the bottom for the light. Really, why was it so dark? Briefly she wondered what had happened to her light switch, and how much it would cost to fix it, and then her fingers caught on the switch and she flicked it on.

Red light seeped into the air, illuminating everything with a bloodlike reflection.

"Oh." Fumiko said, because she couldn't think of anything else.

There was a man standing there, behind her cashbox, one she recognized to be one of Kankuro's puppet brigade friends from the picture on his workshop wall, though she didn't know his name. He had light hair and small, dark eyes, so far as she could tell through the red haze.

He leered, not in a creepy kind of way, but like he'd pulled something off he didn't think was possible, sweaty and nervous.

He took a step closer.

Fumiko backed up and then turned to run, but the puppet master slid easily in front of her before she could clear the counter's corner, hands up to prevent her escape.

Fumiko yelped and dropped to her hands and knees, which he didn't seem to expect, scrambling out of the tight space between his leg and the side of her stone counter. Before he could catch his bearings, Fumiko stood up with her back to his, and without thinking pulled her arm forward and slammed her elbow back into the small of his back.

He fell, cursing in surprise. Fumiko didn't give herself time to process what had just happened, she started to run again, but them something caught the back of her prosthetic and puled and she fell, arms flailing, cry of alarm stuck in her throat, and hit the ground hard, skidding a little.

Fumiko could hear him starting to get up and tried to struggle to her foot, but the thing was still caught and he was up, but she was up too, and tried to bolt even though she hadn't made it all the way standing yet, trying to plow forward toward the door with her momentum and also trying not to wipe out again.

Pain flared in the back of her skull as the intruder's grabbing fingers caught a knot in her hair and he pulled. Fumiko stumbled back and he grabbed her arm, jerking her around. His face was washed in red, eyes glinting with anxiety and determination.

Something with his hand was hurting, stinging her arm, pulling chakra out like water, and she couldn't focus it or move it enough for a Genjutsu as it flowed across her skin towards his sucking fingers.

Fumiko tried to jerk away but her arm burned and he was stronger than she was and he was pulling a knife-

Fumiko froze. She could see something sliding off the blade. In the red glow, it was yellow-brown and thick and dark, probably a deep green under normal lights.

A sedative? Maybe. Most likely. Plants in Sunagakure that killed made poisons either purple or black in color. Homemade sedatives, however, were usually green, as was senbon paralytic coating. He was in puppet corps, it was likely he knew how to make different poisons.

There was a pretty good chance she could get another hit in before he attacked, a good solid blow to his liver or his solar plexus, knock him down and run away. But on the other hand, there was also a chance, a very likely chance, that she would get stabbed or scratched no matter what she did, poisoned; severely injured or kidnapped, especially if he managed to cover her mouth before she cried out.

He raised the blade. A single dark yellow-brown drop of poison reflecting red dripped off the tip to the ground, where it splattered against the wood floor.

Fumiko screamed for Gaara.

The man froze, went very, very still, and a reddish drop of sweat curved down his cheek. For half a second, there was nothing, only quiet and the echo of her cry bouncing off the walls.

"I get it," the man said after a moment, recovering his leer. "You're bluffing. The Kazekage's at the Tower working, isn't-"

The door slammed open and sand rushed into the space, when it cleared, there was Gaara, light filtering in around him through the door, not quite snarling or making a facial expression, but his eyes were narrowed and his teeth were showing, which was a bad sign. For her attacker, anyway.

The intruder managed a weak "Ka-ka-kazekage-sama," and tried to hide the blade behind his back.

He forgot to let go of her arm, though, and that still hurt, and now she was getting woozy from chakra loss.

"Fumiko," Gaara said, and his voice was deadly quiet. "Close your eyes."

"H-hai." Fumiko did so, and immediately there was a rushing sound like a waterfall, and warm sand scraped across her arm and under the man's fingers, easing his painful grip, and the intruder was screaming even though Gaara hadn't even done anything yet-

He yelled even louder, and something warm splattered across her arm and neck and cheek. Fumiko chewed her lip, wincing.

His screams abruptly cut off. There was a thud.

Hands on her face. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Cautiously, Fumiko opened her eyes, meeting Gaara's worried blue ones. Fumiko could hear the advisor outside saying something about the door and Gaara taking off in the middle of a conversation.

From the way he said the word 'conversation' led her to believe that Gaara had not been at all pleased with the advisor to begin with, but he quieted instantly when he looked inside at the wreck.

And it was a wreck. Now that Fumiko actually looked around, a lot of her paintings were trashed, lying on the floor, and there was paint everywhere, empty punctured cans lying on their sides like dead fighters bled out. There was broken glass from another busted window. She could see now that her windows had been covered up with tarps.

The shinobi, Fumiko realized with shock, wasn't dead. His right arm and shoulder, belonging to the hand that had been holding her, was practically gone, completely destroyed, but he was still alive, Fumiko could see his shuddering breaths by the red light and the regular light from the doorway.

Fumiko looked back at Gaara, eyes wide. "Yeah."

He made a deep growling sound in the back of his throat and pulled her to him violently enough that Fumiko almost lost her balance. Now she couldn't see anything but white fabric, and that was okay; Fumiko closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.

For a moment, anyway.

"Who is this?" Joseki demanded.

"I don't know," Gaara answered in a monotone, but his fingers curved into her back like claws.

"He's in the puppet brigade," Fumiko said, voice muffled through Gaara's robes. "I saw him in one of Kankuro's pictures."

"And why would he go after you, I wonder? Gaara-sama, I told you you should have assigned her guards. I knew something like this would happen eventually."

"And I told you I wasn't going to have Fumiko tailed for the rest of her life," Gaara said, finally letting go and stepping back to survey the damage, eyes narrowing smaller and smaller as he did so. "... This looks like a robbery."

It did look like a robbery. But Fumiko was pretty certain she had seen a sedative or at least a powerful paralytic on that guy's knife. Something else had been going on, she was almost sure of it.

Fumiko glanced at Gaara, wondering if he had seen it. He caught her eyes and pursed his lips before looking away.

Fumiko blinked but didn't say anything.

"Obviously this was a robbery," Joseki said, "But why would a known puppet brigade member stoop so low as to rob an art studio? And if he was desperate enough to rob this particular store- which is under the protection of the Kazekage himself- why did he ruin instead of trying to steal any of the artwork?"

He looked down at a broken charcoal impression of icicles, crushed in the middle like it'd been stepped on, and nudged it with his sandal, nose wrinkling in disapproval.

Joseki was an advisor above everything else, and he was an advisor because he was wise. Fumiko didn't know exactly why Gaara didn't want it known- at least didn't want it known yet- but trying to keep it from the Council for very long probably wouldn't work.

That didn't mean she wouldn't keep a secret. Gaara always, without fail, had a reason for everything he did.

Gaara didn't respond, just stepped over to the unconscious, shivering one-armed man bleeding out on her floor and knelt down to look him over, putting a not-quite-so-gentle hand on his neck to check his pulse.

His eyes slid to Joseki. "If we want him to live long enough to question him, then this man needs a medic."

"I'm a medic," Fumiko said automatically.

"I'll go and find assistance," Joseki said stiffly and stepped back through the busted door. "Don't let him escape."

As soon as he was gone, Fumiko carefully stepped over the canvases ripped apart and soaking spilled paint on the floor, making her way over to the man and the rather large pool of blood slowly but steadily spreading around him.

She knelt on the side opposite Gaara, his injured side. She didn't really have the chakra to spare for healing ninjutsu, but she pulled her medical pouch onto her lap and opened it, reaching in for her stitching kit and disinfection and scissors.

Gaara was feeling over him briskly, hands dipping into pockets and folds of clothing, spilling out miscellaneous weapons and one packet of cherry flavored bubble gum onto the floor, behind him, away from the blood.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for his identification." he answered. "And trying not to kill him."

Fumiko nodded. "I need to roll him on his side."

Gaara slid back easily and Fumiko tipped him onto his uninjured arm. There was practically nothing left, the sand had torn it all away, but it was ragged and there was bone showing.

Unfortunately, she didn't have any gloves. Fumiko took a breath, then swabbed the crude amputation with a handful of small sterile towels to try and mop up the blood, but it kept coming.

She fashioned a torquenet out of clean tarp, string, and the broken handle of a long wall roller paint brush, pulling it as tight as she could. He was unconscious but shivering, so while she waited for the blood flow to slow she gave him pain medication injections.

"Why do that?"

"Why me? Because I'm not going to give someone stitches without a painkiller unless it's an emergency. Why a medic? Because if he wakes up without it he'll start thrashing all over the place."

She had her hand on it, her open palm, and she could feel the bone. It wasn't jagged, thank god, Gaara had ripped the other clear from the joint, but the skin was rugged around it. She threatened the needle with one hand and her teeth, well aware that is was unsanitary and well aware that he would be brought to a hospital if he didn't bleed on the floor, so it didn't really matter.

She closed the wound the best she could, but there wasn't enough skin. It was enough that the blood stopped and would possibly help with potential infection. Fumiko cut his shirt away and wrapped a thick bandage around his chest to keep it on his remaining bit of shoulder and tied it off.

The only other thing she could do was roll him onto his back again and give him a few blood pills and basic antibodies with water and her clean hand over his mouth to make him swallow.

When she finished, she leaned back far enough to fall on her butt, then pulled her prosthetic into an almost criss cross. Gaara resumed his search, fingers wet with blood, but he didn't seem to really care.

"Gaara, what's up with the robbery thing?"

"I didn't want to get into it again with him. Not with you here."

Fumiko cocked her head to the side, absently wiping her blood-soaked hand on her cloak. "Why? What's he say that makes you so mad?"

"Ah, nothing. That old fool hasn't stopped blabbering at me since the festival."

"Gaara... Um, not that I'm upset about it, but..." She glanced down at the man with his white slowly turning red bandage. "Why didn't you kill him."

"Because he's probably not stupid." Gaara pulled his hand out of a hidden pants pocket, something akin to a wallet in his hand. "Which means he wouldn't rob this place without a reason."

"So what do you think then?"

"Money. Or maybe he's being blackmailed. I don't know. But either way somebody most likely put him up to this. If there's one traitor there's a hundred more."

"You want to find out who did it."

"I want to find out who's after me," Gaara said. "And why he wants me badly enough that he'd send people after you."

"Do you think they live in Suna?" Fumiko said in a smaller voice. She hadn't thought of it that way before. Fumiko personally hadn't pissed off all that many people, but Gaara as the Fourth Kazekage would have enemies everywhere- even in other villages.

"I don't know." Gaara shook his head. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Before the words had left his mouth, ninja spilled in through the busted door.

...

Since work was out- her studio was trashed and swarming with Intelligence shinobi investigating- Fumiko focused instead on helping set up the newly repaired arena for the Genin coronation ceremony. They were mostly done, but they still needed help with some things.

Mostly it was just chairs left, chairs and organizing ninja ID specifications and clearances. There were specific packets for each new ninja, with a gift certificate to the photographers and a info sheet to fill out for everyone, and then either sets of shuriken and kunai and ninja wire, or chakra enhancement pills and various starter seals depending on whether or not the new Genin was graduating into Genin or Medic corps.

Most kids were graduating into the ordinary Genin corps.

Fumiko filed the paperwork and coupon into a manila envelope, then wrapped it in a box underneath a prepackaged set of seven kunai, a pack of sixteen shuriken, a twenty-six pack of senbon along with three nonlethal poison variations included with it, a roll of ninja wire, two flashbombs and a blank scroll for sealing that would hold up to four general seals.

Each scroll, as Fumiko accidentally found out when she tripped and dropped a scroll so that it rolled all the way out while she chased after it, had a tiny, intricate sealing on the back of the end of the roll's bottom corner that probably held some little surprise for those few Genin both clever enough to find it and skilled enough to open it.

She figured Mai would find it and bring it to her for help.

Unless she learned more than a basic seal with ANBU. Fumiko didn't know her sister's limits anymore. It was just getting to the point where she could pick up on Mai's chakra and recognize it as well again.

"Fumiko-san, are you almost done with the student starter's packets?"

Fumiko looked up and smiled at Toyotomi. He was a thin man with white-blond hair and large brown eyes. He had been Mai's original sensei, and had returned to the Academy after Gaara and the other two sensei had resigned. Fumiko had talked to this man many times before- after all, she was the one Mai had always come to to sign of on detentions and have parent-teacher conferences.

Fumiko counted as one of Mai's guardians probably because she had worked in the hospital and was released from her home to live on her own. Fumiko wasn't even sure how many times Toyotomi had even spoken to their parents.

"Yeah. Do you want them alphabetized?"

"Agh, it doesn't matter. I'm going to retire after this... the kids are getting crazier and crazier."

...

It was afternoon, and Fumiko was bouncing with excitement, craning her neck to stare at the door over the heads of the people in front of her. They were organized in alphabetical order- the families were- so Fumiko wasn't sitting next to Gaara and she wasn't sitting where she could see. Even if Gaara's last name had started with an M and not an F, he was the Kazekage and therefore was in the actual arena.

Her mom was on her left, her father on her right, and one of her grandparents was sitting in front of her that she hadn't seen in years but had known what today was because she worked in Intelligence. Fumiko's mother was grinning broadly, and Fumiko's father had on a smug-ish smirk, both watching the door.

"Mom." Silence. "Hey, mom."

"What?" she whispered back. There wasn't a rule against talking, but everyone was hushed as they waited for the newest batch of kunoichi and shinobi to come out.

"Do you think Mai will move into a Genin apartment?"

"... Most likely. Yes."

"Yeah."

They would also be assigned into Genin teams. So far as Fumiko knew, Mai was still going to be in a team, despite her ANBU rank. Otherwise it would be too easy to figure out what her disappearance had meant. She would probably level up to chunin and then Jonin all while being in shadow corps.

There was no way Mai wouldn't become a Jonin.

Fumiko wondered if she would still be assigned a standard Genin apartment, or if she would get something else. Probably not- if anyone ever came over to visit or deliver a message, that would be a giveaway.

"I can't believe she finally graduated." her mother said softly.

Fumiko smiled a little. "Well, at least now she can finally go on missions. She always got mad before when something happened and she couldn't go 'cause she was only a student."

Just then the doors opened. Now people were standing up, trying to see, and relieved now that they had an excuse to stand- and get out of the tilted chairs sitting on a mostly-cleared sand dune. Fumiko stood as well, not that it would really make a difference, since she was so much shorter than all of the adults around her.

Nobody said any big words- Fumiko could assume that that had already happened inside the arena, during the coronations, but they would have gotten their headbands, and you could tell they were excited; they were all yelling and talking at the tops of their lungs, filtering through the crowd to see their friends and families.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Gah, move it!"

Mai pushed her way through the crowds towards them.

"Congratulations, M-" Fumiko started to say, grinning and holding out her arms.

"Not in the mood."

"What?"

"Mai?" her mother said uncertainly.

"That's my little girl."

"Don't touch my hair, dad."

"But you're a ninja now!"

"Seriously, stop touching me."

"Mai, what's going on.? What's wrong?"

Mai glanced over, hand around her father's wrist that was still on her head. She probably was about to sap it, but their father didn't really seem to notice. "Oh, nothing. Just some Eishi shit."

"What'd he do?"

"It wasn't him, it was Toyotomi-sensei." Absently she clenched her hand to try and pull her father's hand off her head, and he winced, bit his lip and tried to tug it away, but now he was stuck. "Eishi's my goddamn teammate."

...

"Oh, that won't end well."

Gaara had met up with her at the Mitsuwa's celebration party, which was still held in her original home. Fumiko had spent all the day prior cooking and cleaning and helping her mother- and father- set up.

Now there were people everywhere, because a few of Mai's classmates that she didn't think were absolute losers had come over, along with their families, and their friends and their families, and now the party was almost as big as the Kazekage's anointment party they had thrown, and annoyingly enough, he was having a lot of the same problems.

"I know." Fumiko shook her head. "I understand it from a shinobi perspective- Eishi is the talker, and he also has better long-range taijutsu then Mai and Shiragiku with his wind-style tessenjutsu and Mai is better at direct confrontation and has more raw strength out of any of them. Shiragiku has the best tactics of the three of them. Logically, their team would be ideal as a general, non-specialization squad. Only..."

"There's no cooperation."

"Not yet." Fumiko shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they'll figure it out."

"Or maybe we'll end up minus a Genin."

"I guess it depends on who their Jonin-sensei is. Do you know?"

"Not yet."

"Excuse me, Gaara-sama!"

Gaara cringed away from the high-pitched female voice behind him. What was worse about this now was that now Gaara actually had a girlfriend and they still wouldn't leave him alone. At least Matsuri had started to tone it down a little.

"Oh, hello," Fumiko said, hefting her tray of snacks and blinking around at the girl standing behind him. "Dango?"

"No, thanks. Hey, Gaara~!"

Gaara sighed and turned around.

...

"I can't believe you're finally going on a mission!"

"I can." Mai grinned. "I've already been on seven D-ranks, you know."

"Those weren't missions. That was me requesting a bunch of D-ranks around my studio so that you could qualify for a C-rank because you asked me to."

Mai shrugged, sliding her hands into her pockets. Only her fingers fit, and her thumbs hung out the front. "Eh, same difference."

"Well, good luck, in any case."

"Thank you, Fumiko-san," Shiragiku said politely. "We will do our best."

"You know I don't need you," Temari said, completely unimpressed, hands on her hips. Her fan was strapped to her back. "You just happen to be the Kazekage's friend and I just happen to be nice."

"Ah, let them have their fun, Temari-san," Otokaze, their Jonin-sensei, said with a lazy smile. "Usually kids their age don't get a chance to take on a C-rank this early in the game."

"But nothing's gonna happen, right?" Eishi said nervously, hoisting his own fan, which wasn't as big as Temari's but still formidable. "Because Temari doesn't actually need help and this is a peace act for all shinobi?"

"You coward," Mai snarked. Eishi, who was keeping Shiragiku carefully between himself and his black-haired fire-styled ANBU teammate that more or less hated his guts, stuck his tongue out at her.

Before they could start fighting again, Otokaze clapped his hands with a weary, irritated, strained grin. "Well, we'd better head out. The sun will come up soon."

"Goodbye, little Mai." Gaara said quietly. Mai saluted.

"Hai. See ya, Shorty-sama."

"Show him some respect, Mai," Temari said. "He's your Kazekage."

"I said sama, didn't I?"

"Things here'll be pretty boring without you guys." Kankuro said, hands in his pockets now as well. "At least maybe I'll get some sleep without the two of you nagging me all night and day."

"Yeah, nothing's gonna happen. It's just an escort mission. Eh, maybe I'll be able to take out a random bandit or something."

"I don't know," Shiragiku said softly, eyes still lowered modestly to the ground. He himself had light white-blond hair down to his ears and pale, freckled skin, with a probably hereditary red diamond smack in the middle of his forehead. He had bright green eyes and was fiddling a cut poppy plant through his fingers. "It should be a peaceful trip."

"Don't jinx it," Kankuro said.

"Oh no," Mai said with a shark grin. "Please do."

"Things here should be fairly quiet around here as well." Gaara said. "With the Chuunin exams coming up, villages are growing more and more peaceful with each other, at least for the time being. When you do come back, it won't be too exciting."

"Yeah, Mai." Fumiko grinned. "I'll have more art and Kankuro will be bored, but once you get moved into your new apartment, things will settle down."

"Well, jeez, if you don't want action that bad, don't jinx it, then." Mai laughed and shouldered her bag. "Both of you. Keep it up and we'll both get ambushed."

"Let's go already." Temari said impatiently.

"Goodbye, Mai!"

"See you!"

"Later, Gaara!"

"Goodbye."

"We're training when I get back, Kankuro!"

"Whatever, Mai."

"If she kills me, tell my mom I love her!"

"Oh, shut up, Eishi!"

"Ow!"

Fumiko laughed and waved at them from inside the gates as they left. Hopefully, Temari would finish up her business with the Chuunin exams quickly and come back. All five of them waved back.

They shimmered like a mirage and turned into shadows in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the Irony.
> 
>  
> 
> That's it for BLAEE! On to it's sequel, 'Sands of Time'. After that, in case you're curious, will be 'Flames of War' which is currently in progress.

**Author's Note:**

> This spans the gap between Naruto and Naruto: Shippuden!


End file.
